


Storytime

by Teland



Category: The Musketeers (2014)
Genre: Alcohol, Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Banter, Biting, Choking, F/M, First Time, Frottage, Happy Ending, Humor, M/M, Romance, Rough Oral Sex, Sexual Fantasy, hand-jobs
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-01-16
Updated: 2018-01-16
Packaged: 2019-03-05 13:19:02
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 6
Words: 20,812
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13388643
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Teland/pseuds/Teland
Summary: "Are you *smiling*?" d'Artagnan sounds positively *incredulous* —Aramis grins. "I am!""*Why*?""We are young, we are free, we are alive on this day —""Oh, shit," Porthos says."— free to discuss —""Aramis.""— anything at all —""Aramis, no.""— but certainly the glories of our Saviour —"His brothers groan, nearly as one.Aramis licks the insides of his teeth. "No?""Bloody *no*," Porthos says —"Really — don't you think being stuck with no fire and cold food is bad *enough*?" And d'Artagnan is incredulous again.Athos merely grunts, though it *is* one of his more bad-natured ones.So."I *do* have another suggestion."





	1. It's an excellent opportunity for bonding, really.

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Houndstar (green_animation)](https://archiveofourown.org/users/green_animation/gifts), [the_Jack](https://archiveofourown.org/users/the_Jack/gifts).



> Disclaimers: Not mine, except for what is. 
> 
> Spoilers/Timeline: Faintly AU-ized spoilers for S1. Takes place between S1 and S2. 
> 
> Author's Note: I no longer remember where *exactly* the bunny for this one came from — Pixie reminded me that I started it to break a block approximately forever ago, then abandoned it when I started being able to write my longer stories — but I'm going to guess that it's Pixie's fault. 
> 
> Acknowledgments: Much love to Pixie, Melly, Spice, Houndstar, and my Jack for audiencing, encouragement, loud noises, thrown projectiles, and generally making me feel like I'm doing this right. You're all so very needed.

The weather has been problematic for the past week this summer — sunny and warm one moment and squalling rain the next — but the King's Musketeers do not pause for *rain*. 

Well. 

Not for *most* kinds of rain. 

Right now, as d'Artagnan and Athos try to keep everyone's bedrolls and extra blankets as dry as possible under their cloaks, Aramis and Porthos are setting up the large tent they had prudently brought with them for this mission as quickly as possible. 

Aramis cannot actually *see* more than Porthos's *outline* through this storm, which is far more severe than any of the others have been, but — 

But. 

The horses are tethered — they all know how to do *that* in pitch darkness — and the tent *will* be erected soon enough — 

His hands can only slip so many times — 

There. 

There, and Porthos already has *his* end set — 

And Athos and d'Artagnan are crawling in and laying out the horse-blankets on the — 

You cannot call this ground damp. 

It is *wet*, and it is — 

Well, it is what it is, and they will deal with it. They have their bedrolls, and they have their cloaks. That will be enough. 

They've all been through worse — though. Has d'Artagnan?

Not since he's been *with* them, to be sure, but...

Perhaps at some point before?

It's a question that bears asking. 

For now, though, Athos is signaling that the blankets are down and he and Porthos can crawl in, as well — 

*Marinate* in the scents of wet wool and leather — 

It is *dark* — 

But — Aramis's eyes adjust quickly enough. It is gloomy, not *black*. And, for all of the storm's ferocity, it is not *actually* cold. There is a humid warmth building in their not-as-large-as-it-frankly-*could*-be tent, and that... 

Is companionable. 

"Are you *smiling*?" d'Artagnan sounds positively *incredulous* — 

Aramis grins. "I am!" 

"*Why*?" 

"We are young, we are free, we are alive on this day —" 

"Oh, shit," Porthos says. 

"— free to discuss —" 

"Aramis." 

"— anything at all —" 

"Aramis, no." 

"— but certainly the glories of our Saviour —" 

His brothers groan, nearly as one. 

Aramis licks the insides of his teeth. "No?" 

"Bloody *no*," Porthos says —

"Really — don't you think being stuck with no fire and cold food is bad *enough*?" And d'Artagnan is incredulous again. 

Athos merely grunts, though it *is* one of his more bad-natured ones. 

So. 

"I *do* have another suggestion." 

Athos looks at him.

"Oh, fuck," Porthos says — 

"Oh, *what*?" 

"It is *very* simple, young d'Artagnan —" 

"And how long are you going to *call* me that —" 

"I can call you other things..." 

"What —" 

"*Don't* take him up on that, lad," Porthos says, and snickers. 

Athos shakes his head, but — yes, that *was* the tiniest of smiles. 

And d'Artagnan had caught it, too, judging by the avid look on his face. "All *right*, fine, but — what's your other *suggestion*?" 

"We —" 

"Don't ask him that, either," Porthos says — 

And Athos hums. 

"Oh, *what*." 

"Do so," Athos says, "at your own risk." And that was — amusement? 

So soon? 

Well, then!

Aramis looks expectantly at d'Artagnan — 

"Oh, just tell me!" 

"*Sex*, young d'Artagnan —" 

d'Artagnan splutters — 

Porthos's laugh is as big as the *continent* — he is restraining himself for the sake of close quarters, such a kind man — 

And Athos rolls his eyes. "I did tell you." 

"But — you — what — *what*?" 

Aramis licks the *fronts* of his teeth. "*Sex*. Hot, sticky, filthy —" 

"You — we can't —" 

"We can't *talk*, d'Artagnan...? I beg to *differ*!" 

Porthos *wheezes* — 

And d'Artagnan stares at him. 

Aramis grins — and winks. "My *suggestion* is that we *talk* about sex. In *detail*." 

"Some of us aren't *having* any!" 

"Ah! This is not the problem you may think it is!" 

"What do you *mean* —" 

"He wants your *fantasies*, lad. *All* of our fantasies," Porthos says, snickering and shaking his head. "You're bloody *incorrigible*." 

"I am merely hungry for *knowledge*, my friend!" 

"A part of him is honestly hoping you'll ask him to go back to talking about religion, you know," Athos says, and smiles with approximately one-eighth of his mouth. 

d'Artagnan, if anything, looks even more horrified — 

Porthos *guffaws* — 

"So!" And Aramis rubs his hands together. "Where shall we begin?" 

"Wait, wait, *wait* —" 

"Oh, would you like to go first?"

"*Nrk* — I!" 

"Aramis." And that was Athos's *scolding*-voice, which is too close to his warning- and ordering-voices — 

"I mean only to pass the *time*, friend Athos. But — what would you have me wait for, friend d'Artagnan?"

d'Artagnan opens his mouth — 

Closes it again — 

And then blushes deeply. It's clear, even in the gloom. "Do you... do you all... *do* this?"

"Talk about sex?" And Porthos grins at *him* before turning back to d'Artagnan. "*Yeah* we do. *All* the time." 

"I *don't*," Athos says. 

"No, it is true that our Athos does not," Aramis says, and sighs. "But! There is always a first time!" 

Athos *looks* at him. 

Aramis looks back, as blithely as possible. 

"But — do you — I mean —" And d'Artagnan turns to Athos. "Do they talk about sex in front of you?" 

Athos huffs his excuse for a laugh. "What on earth would stop them?" 

"*You*." 

Athos drinks from his wineskin before offering it to Aramis — 

Aramis drinks and passes it around — 

"I think not. I may not be... social, but I need not be an active pall on every conversation I'm nominally a part of." Another huff. "At least, I hope not." 

"I — that's not what I meant —" 

"I know," Athos says, and smiles with a little more of his mouth, this time. "I don't want to stop them, d'Artagnan," he says, quietly. "I... rarely want to stop people from speaking around me." 

And *that* gives a certain determined jut to d'Artagnan's chin. 

Porthos catches Aramis's eye — and yes, they both know that d'Artagnan will now *never* be silent around Athos if he can help it. 

They will help him with this — 

"I — fantasies, you said? Any fantasies?" 

Oh... Aramis grins *helplessly*. "I have *one* rule, d'Artagnan." 

"There are *rules* for this kind of conversation?" 

"Oh, yes! Very important ones!" And Aramis leans in. "You must share your *happiest* fantasies with us. No pain. No *shame* — unless the shame *pleases* you." 

"How — no, I won't ask that question. You'll just *answer* me," d'Artagnan says, in a *mockery* of a grumble. His eyes are very bright and wide in the gloom. "I um. I have a lot of fantasies about Constance." 

"We're stunned, lad." And Porthos grins and hands d'Artagnan the wineskin. 

"We are positively — what is the word I am looking for?" 

"Gobsmacked?" 

"That could be it!" 

"Oh, sod *off*, both of you! Do you want me to tell this fantasy or *not*?" 

Aramis gestures d'Artagnan to drink. "We want you to tell *many* fantasies! *Starting* with whichever one is on the tip of your tongue." 

"I — fine. Fine —" 

"You *don't* have to do this," Athos says, quietly again. 

And d'Artagnan takes a — small — drink and hands the wineskin back to him. "I know, Athos. But — I don't want to be quiet." 

"We could talk about —" 

"This," d'Artagnan says stubbornly. "We'll talk about *this*." 

Athos raises an eyebrow. 

d'Artagnan stares at Athos belligerently — 

Athos smiles, then, and inclines his head. 

d'Artagnan *blinks* for that, and seems dangerously close to losing the thread — 

Porthos clears his throat. "So about Constance?" 

d'Artagnan blushes again — and blurts: "I've seen her without her corset on." 

Aramis and Porthos both make appreciative noises for that. 

"I mean — she was still — she had a dressing gown on over... whatever it was over, but she was *moving*, and — and I could see her *breasts* moving, and just a little — her belly, you know —" 

"Aw, I *love* that," Porthos says, and grins — 

"She is a well-padded woman!"

d'Artagnan blows out a breath. "But — but still so *strong*. So — I mean, I teach her weapons, you all know I do —" 

"That we do, lad." 

"And I can feel... her muscles..." And d'Artagnan is drifting. 

"This was the first time you had seen the *extent* of her softness? Her... lushness?" And Aramis raises his eyebrows — 

And d'Artagnan makes a soft sound, still looking at nothing in this tent. "I thought about... holding her. Just... holding her." 

Porthos raises his eyebrows — and then nods. "Holding her how, lad." 

"With." d'Artagnan licks his lips. "I don't want to hurt her. I never want — but if I could dig my fingers *in* against... her softness." 

"Oh, *that's* nice." 

"Mm! Agreed!" Aramis leans in — "And perhaps you would hold her down...?" 

d'Artagnan shakes his head dreamily. "I'm — we're standing in this — I just. I hold her against the kitchen wall. I touch her... all over. I... the light is so *good* in the kitchen." 

"You want to *see* her," Porthos says. 

"All of her. All of her, so I can — when I *can't* see her. When she's not *there*." And d'Artagnan licks his lips. "And — in the fantasy she likes the way my hands feel. She always — she likes how rough they are." 

Aramis grins. "Do you touch her sex? Do you *use* your hands on her?" 

"Yeah, I — I really do," d'Artagnan says, and laughs nervously. 

"Have you *done* that, lad?" 

"Yeah, I — I mean, back home. Two — two of my friends were girls." 

"*Really*, now," Porthos says, and grins. 

Aramis sighs. "Close friendship is so important." 

Porthos nods judiciously. 

d'Artagnan laughs a little breathlessly. "You're both such arseholes. You — and —" And d'Artagnan looks to Athos — 

But Athos is looking down at the wineskin with his usual neutral expression. 

d'Artagnan frowns — and that will not do. 

Aramis clears his throat. "Your friends — they taught you much of women?" 

"What? I —" 

"It can be tricky feeling your way around down there, the first few times," Porthos says. 

d'Artagnan blinks — and smiles ruefully. "I *remember*. *Horribly*." 

"*Do* you, then. Did someone *not* appreciate those rough hands of yours, lad?" 

"Danielle," d'Artagnan says, and reaches for the wineskin again. "By the time Claire let me touch her, I knew a little more about what I was doing, and *Claire* all but drew me a *map*." 

"Oh, you *have* to love it when a girl will do that," Porthos says. "My Flea and I were mostly learning together, but she was right firm about what *didn't* work." 

"*That*," d'Artagnan says. "And it was *mortifying* at first, but then it got to be a little... companionable." 

"Like you were on a journey together, friend d'Artagnan?" 

"Oh — oh, I like — yeah, *that*!" 

Aramis grins and bows and flourishes, just a little — 

"*Arsehole* —" 

"But what about the journey you're taking with Constance, eh?" And Porthos waggles his eyebrows. 

"She um. She — she spends. Right there against the wall. She makes a *lot* of noise," d'Artagnan says, and laughs with rueful embarrassment — 

"You like your lovers to be loud, friend d'Artagnan?" 

"Nnh — I — I haven't always needed it? But I always want *Constance* to be loud. Even when she's *yelling* at me." 

"She's good at that," Porthos says, and grins. 

"Oh, yes, I have noticed this, as well," Aramis says — 

d'Artagnan snickers — and relaxes. "She's loud in *all* of my fantasies about her. She's — even the ones where her husband is in the next *room*." 

"Oi, wait, I want to hear about that one —" 

"Oh, yes, yes —" 

"But..." And d'Artagnan looks up at them with wide eyes and a mockery of innocence. "I don't think it's my turn, anymore." 

Porthos stares with his jaw slack. 

Aramis does not do much better. 

Athos hums. "Well-played." 

"*Thank* you —" 

"Of course... they're going to hound you about that forevermore," Athos says, and smiles meanly — 

"Oh — shit —"

"But now is not the time to worry about that," Aramis says. "Whose turn is it now, mm?" 

"It's bloody —" 

"Porthos's," d'Artagnan says. "I want to hear about Porthos's fantasies." 

Porthos raises his eyebrows. "My fantasies? Or what I've actually been *doing*?" 

"I *know* what you've been doing. You and Aramis drag me *with* you to brothels. *And you make a lot of noise*." 

"And now we know you *like* that, friend d'Artagnan!" 

"From *Constance*!" 

"Details! But yes, Porthos, tell us your fantasies," Aramis says, and rubs his hands together again. 

"Well, I could always talk about Constance —" 

d'Artagnan sprays wine on his own trousers — 

"— but I *won't* — yet," Porthos says, and waggles his eyebrows *and* tongue —

"You —" 

"Nor will I," Aramis says, sweeping off his hat and covering his heart. "I vow this thing." 

"You complete *berks*!" 

"How many times am I allowed to say variations on 'I told you so' before it becomes *intolerably* obnoxious?" And Athos sounds honestly curious. 

d'Artagnan *coughs* —

Porthos *whacks* him on the back — 

And Aramis retrieves the wineskin before anything untoward can happen. This is going better than he'd hoped!


	2. Well, d'Artagnan, your brothers are arseholes, but they're *your* arseholes.

d'Artagnan *gradually* catches his breath — 

Athos *and* Porthos are rubbing his back — 

Aramis *still* looks like he wants to eat all of them, fantasies first — 

And — 

And this isn't what d'Artagnan had imagined, when he'd imagined bonding with his new brothers. When he'd imagined being truly taken in as one of them. 

At this point, though... 

He honestly isn't sure why he *hadn't*. 

It's *exactly* the kind of conversation Aramis would start, that Porthos would encourage with that easy back-and-forth he *always* has with Aramis, and that Athos would... tolerate. 

Not *just* tolerate, but *enjoy*, in his quietly wry and sarcastic way. He may not be a *full* part of the conversation, and he may have honestly tried to *protect* d'Artagnan *from* it, but —

This is part of his life. 

This is part of the brotherhood he'd *had* with Porthos and Aramis long before any of them knew d'Artagnan *existed*. And that's *more* than fine by him.

And by d'Artagnan, too, when they're not actually *choking* him to death — 

"All right, lad?" 

And when he's not complaining for the sake of it. 

Porthos and Aramis invite him out with them all the time, to all *sorts* of different places, and they've done so practically from the beginning. They've — kept him close. 

And made him a part of the *three* of them whenever Athos wasn't drinking alone. 

They haven't had to 'drag' him anywhere in a long, long time. 

"d'Artagnan?" And Athos's tone is a little worried, a little — 

That's not right. "I'm fine," d'Artagnan says, and smiles ruefully at all of them. "I was just — thinking." Well, that was a pathetic finish. 

Athos raises an eyebrow at him. 

"Right, I — I was thinking... about... the three of you. And the four of us," d'Artagnan says, and hopes, hopes, *hopes* he can leave it there. 

And by the *horrifying* way all their eyes soften — 

"Brother," Porthos says. 

"*Brother*," Aramis says. 

"Brother," Athos says, and his voice is dark, and low, and *hurt*, but they all know why now, and d'Artagnan knows he's supposed to be paying more attention to the smile on Athos's face.

d'Artagnan swallows and nods, blushing hard and wishing for something to do with his *hands* — 

"*So*, I was going to talk about my fantasies," Porthos says, *exactly* on time — 

Thank *God* —

"*Oh* yes, friend Porthos. Edify us!" 

"That I will, that I will," Porthos says, and passes the wineskin back to d'Artagnan. 

d'Artagnan drinks — 

"So the *first* time I thought about bending over for Treville —" 

d'Artagnan sprays his trousers again. 

Athos rubs his back. "If it makes you feel any better, d'Artagnan, sometimes he talks about his Treville fantasies when I'm *sober*." 

"Why would that make *me* feel better?" 

"Because, friend d'Artagnan, Treville is Athos's *godfather*," Aramis says, and smiles *evilly*. 

And rescues the wineskin again. 

"I... suppose I'm less horrified right now than I could be?"

"Precisely. Aramis, give that wineskin back." 

"Mm!" And Aramis drinks deep before handing it over. 

"Thank you kindly," Athos says, and hands it back to d'Artagnan. "Drink. Heavily." 

"I —" 

"Do it." 

d'Artagnan does it. And frowns. 

Athos raises an eyebrow. "Yes?" 

"Now I feel *stupid* and horrified." 

"If you drink more, the stupidity will eventually reign supreme." 

d'Artagnan licks his lips. "I'm not sure that's a good thing?" 

Athos shrugs with only his facial muscles. "To each their own. You were saying, Porthos?" 

Porthos sighs and smiles, obviously thinking — 

Thinking about — 

Thinking —

d'Artagnan drinks more — 

Athos pats him. 

d'Artagnan *stops* drinking — "Wait." 

"Mm?" 

"You — and the *Captain*? The — the *Captain*?" 

Porthos grins with his mouth open and his tongue out and he's nodding and — 

d'Artagnan drinks a little more — 

Athos pats him more — 

"You don't think he's too..." 

"Mm? Too what?" 

"Well, there's all the *yelling*." 

"Mate, we've already established that you *like* yelling." 

"From *Constance*!" 

"Right, but —" 

"And he's — well, he's not *mean*, but —" 

"He's not mean, at *all*." 

"Oh, no, no," Aramis says. "He is a very *warm* man, when we give him a chance to be." 

Athos hums. "He was always very kind and giving with us, when we were growing up." 

"And when you can make him *relax* a little — ah, fuck, that's the best!" And Porthos is grinning. "You've *seen* his sense of humour, lad." 

"It's — it's —" d'Artagnan frowns. "He *is* really funny. Like... like he *wants* to be joking more than he is." 

"He was constantly laughing and making jokes... well. I sincerely doubt that man has entirely disappeared," Athos says. 

Porthos sighs again. "He's just been swallowed up by his *job*. He needs someone to uh. Ease the *pressures* on him a little. Or a lot." And Porthos grins again, shifting a little. 

"You haven't had the opportunity to see this for yourself," Athos says, "but sometimes Porthos *flirts* with Treville —" 

"Oh — *fuck* —" 

"Porthos is the *bravest* of men," Aramis says, and rescues the wineskin — 

"It's the most fascinating thing in the world to watch Treville grow shocked, then amused, then fascinated, then *hunted* over the course of, say, two minutes of Porthos talking."

"Hunted —" 

Aramis laughs filthily. "Always he makes his escape!"

"One way or another. Though there is that fascination —" 

"Too *right*."

"I'm quite sure Porthos and Treville will traumatize us all in the most graphic possible ways someday," Athos says. 

"Aww, you really think so, brother?" 

"I have the utmost faith in you *always*, Porthos." 

"That's right warming. Now where was I?"

Aramis hands the wineskin over. "The *first* time you fantasized about bending for him." 

"No, no," Porthos says, and drinks. "The first time I fantasized about bending *over* for him. *Bending* for him — that came later. I needed to trust him more for that." And Porthos looks to *him*. "Do you know what I'm talking about, lad?" 

And considering *all* the brothels they've taken him to over the past eight months... "I... have some idea."

"But you could have more. Right, well, here, it is: At *first*, I *just* wanted to have sex with him, and *maybe* make love a little bit. Then I *definitely* wanted to make love, but I wasn't sure about all the different ways I wanted to do it. Then I *trusted* him, and I knew that *one* of the ways I wanted to do it was with his hand on the back of my neck and all the weight of his *force* on me. Pushing me right down to my knees and *keeping* me there," Porthos says, and raises his eyebrows in question. 

"Oh — *oh*. All right." And d'Artagnan swallows and blushes. "But that's not what you wanted at first." 

"I wouldn't have been able to take it, at *all*." 

Take it — d'Artagnan blushes more.

Just — so much *more*. 

He reaches for the wineskin — 

"Perhaps our d'Artagnan has more questions...?" And Aramis's voice is... gentle. That's almost harder to deal with than the alternative. 

"Or Porthos could talk about something else," Athos says, and that's *definitely* harder to deal with — 

"I — no. No," d'Artagnan says, and drinks. *Lightly*. "I want to hear more of this." 

And they're all looking at him. 

*Examining* him — 

Sizing him — 

"I want to," he says. "I want — everything," he says, because it's true, and because he's pretty sure it's the only way to *get* everything — 

"We know you do, lad," Porthos says, and *his* voice is gentle, but it's gentle a lot of the time, so it's not so hard to take — "But you don't have to have it all at once." 

"I know that," d'Artagnan says. He does. He *does*. "But — I'm not.. put off. Or anything like that. It's just... really surprising." 

Aramis and Athos both raise their *eyebrows*, though not really *at* him, so that's all right — 

And Porthos nods slowly and with a kind of shrewd look on his face. "All right, lad. Ask some more questions." 

Well, now he has to. He — and he will. "You — said you didn't think you could... um. Take it. Before. Take... bending for Treville." 

"That's right. Do you want to know what changed?" 

He wants to know *everything* — but. "I was wondering... why you thought you could take it at all? I mean... you're..." But he has no idea how to end that sentence. 

And Athos is humming — 

And Aramis is smiling like a *bastard* — 

And so is Porthos, really. "You were maybe wondering how a big, tough Musketeer like me could ever want to be on his knees to anyone...?" 

d'Artagnan *flushes* — 

Just the way Porthos had *said* that had given all *kinds* of answers to the *question* — 

And maybe, just maybe, brought up about a *thousand* shameful fantasies of his own — 

He doesn't need to *think* about those right now — 

"You could always," Athos says, "drink more." 

"That's your answer to *everything*!" 

"It's been a helpful answer." 

"No, it —" d'Artagnan splutters. "All *right*," he says, and turns to Porthos. "You're going to tell me there's nothing wrong with it." 

"That's right." 

"You're going to tell me that everything people say about it is stupid and wrong —" 

"That's *absolutely* right, not least because *they haven't tried it for themselves*." 

"And — and I — that makes sense —" 

"Of course it bloody does!" 

"You're going to tell me that you — that you've secretly been doing it all the time —" 

"Well, not that." 

d'Artagnan blinks — stops. 

Breathes. 

"No?" 

"Nah," Porthos says, and smiles. "I only *want* it sometimes, from some people. That's generally how it works. From *both* sides of things." 

"Meaning... from... People who make other people bend *for* them don't want that from everyone," d'Artagnan says, and — it's not a question. 

Because it's kind of obvious. 

Everyone is different, and if you're any kind of right-thinking person, you want different *things* from different people. They might have similar aspects to them, but it's not like he wants Aramis to act just like Constance, or Athos to act just like Porthos. That would be *asinine*. 

It — 

"You could share some of those thoughts, friend d'Artagnan..." 

"Mm? Oh, I — I just —" And d'Artagnan smiles ruefully and hands the wineskin to Athos. "I was just working it all out in my head." 

"We could see *that*," Porthos says, and grins. "But we'll *help* you. We *want* to help." 

"I —" 

"We truly do," Athos says — and then huffs. "Inasmuch as that's possible." 

d'Artagnan reaches over and squeezes Athos's shoulder. "You um. You always help. And — all of you. I just needed to get the basics down for myself. So I could stop feeling like a *complete* idiot." 

Porthos and Aramis look like they want to coo at him, which is *awful* — 

"None of this is — easy," Athos says, and drinks. "None of this is *fundamental* — except in terms of how it feels when it all *works* with another person. Or... seems to work." And he looks down — 

He frowns *horribly* — 

But then he shakes it off and looks up again, before any of them can say anything. "None of this is easy. The mind and the body are often at odds with each other, and rarely are the battles more pitched and bloody than at times like this, when everything the world around you wants you to believe about how to be a man is telling you one thing and your... your heart, and everything else, is telling you another." 

d'Artagnan *blinks* — 

"What Athos is saying," Aramis says, and smiles wryly, "is that you were never an idiot, d'Artagnan. You never could be. Especially not about this." 

"*Exactly*," Porthos says. "Look, when it comes down to it? Sex is big and weird and beautiful and messy and *scary*. Because it breaks you wide open and makes it impossible to *hide* — if you're doing it right." 

"*Especially* this kind of lovemaking," Aramis says. 

d'Artagnan blinks again. "Why is that?" 

His brothers share a *look* — 

Like they're trying to decide *how* to tell him — 

"Just tell me! I won't — I won't run *away*. It's raining too hard for that," d'Artagnan says, trying to joke. 

Porthos snorts. "'s not that, lad. We're just... well..." 

"I have never known precisely how to describe the differences... not in that way," Aramis says. "Athos?" 

Athos smiles wryly at all of them. 

"Right, no," Porthos says. "Uh... well, look, lemme try." 

The others nod. 

d'Artagnan leans in a little helplessly — 

"It's like this, lad. *Every* time you're making love to someone, really making love *with* someone, you're being honest with them, and being open with them, and giving them everything you are, yeah?" 

"*Yes*. So why is it different?" 

"Well..." And Porthos scratches at his beard. "I think part of it *is* the way the whole world is telling you not to do this, and not to do it *this* way, and that it's all wrong, and that *you're* all wrong, and not a true man, and also you're a deviant, and all that shite." 

"Uh. What?" 

"Bear with me," Porthos says, and gestures a world with his hands. "See, you've got the whole world on your shoulders, right? And they're yelling at you in your head, telling you the 'right' ways to go, yeah?" 

"Yeah, but they're not right — you said — and I'm listening —" 

"*Good* lad. So you're shrugging that world *off* your shoulders. You're — stripping it right off like a cloak you didn't know you were wearing until it was gone." 

"Oh." 

"Yeah, eh? So, you're just that much more naked than you were when you were making love in ways that nobody yells about."

"All right, I see —" 

"But there's *more*," Porthos says, and grins again. 

"Oh — yeah?" 

"*Absolutely*," he says, and now *he's* leaning in. "Because once you strip off that cloak, once you're naked as a babe? You're —" 

"Terrified?" 

"For a moment or two, yeah — or longer, if the person you're bending for is no good. See, that's where the trust comes in. I *trust* Treville to be the kind of bloke it's *good* to bend for. The kind of bloke who would've already stripped off *his* cloak before I even walked in the door, eh? Does that... make sense?" 

And for a moment, d'Artagnan can see *nothing* but Treville naked, the way he'd been when they were all washing up together that time — 

And his body had still been so *hard* — 

Hairy and strong and — 

That's not what Porthos is talking about. It isn't. At all. 

At *all*. "Um. Maybe? Wait, give me a minute," d'Artagnan says, and chases away every naked Treville image his mind had somehow decided to hoard — 

Why are there so *many*? 

How many does his mind think he *needs*? 

All right, all right, no — he looks up at Porthos, who is smiling gently at him like maybe he can *tell* what d'Artagnan is thinking — 

Which would be — just his luck, actually. *But*. "When you say he's stripped his cloak off..." 

"Mm-hm?" 

"You mean you already know that *he* won't... hurt you. Or — hurt you in bad ways. Or — *mock* you. You know that he won't — that he's there with you. In the same place you are? I don't know if *I'm* making sense." 

"You are, lad, and that's just right. Once I got a real feel for the man Treville is — and we're all agreed that he's incredible, yeah?" 

And there's a *chorus* of agreement — 

"Yeah," Porthos says. "Once I got a feel for him, it just *felt* right that, in my fantasies, his cloak was gone long before I worked mine off." 

d'Artagnan nods. "All right. But... more?" 

"*Really* yeah. Because you're both more naked than you ever really get to be — than *anyone* ever gets to be in this world — and *then* you start *talking*." 

"About... what you want," d'Artagnan says, and nods. "I think I... all right. Even when you're talking about your fantasies and everything you want when you're making love in less — um. In *other* ways, you're still not naked." 

"*That's* right." 

"But *now* you're naked, and you're — you maybe say... more?" 

Porthos grins and waggles his eyebrows. "If you do it right." 

"But you said it was *impossible* to hide." 

"Well, look, lad, anyone can hide at pretty much any time if they put their backs into it — that's just how the human animal *works*. But, if you're actually trying to make *love* with someone, and trying to make love with someone *this* way..." 

d'Artagnan nods slowly. "*Then* it's impossible to hide." 

"There you go," and Porthos turns to Aramis and Athos. "How'd I do?" 

"I award full marks!" Aramis says, and passes the wineskin — 

Porthos lets out a little cheer and drinks — 

And Athos huffs. "I now *want* to know more about your fantasies about Treville —" 

"I am *here* for you, mate —" 

"— and I *hate* *all* of us for that." 

Porthos snickers hard — 

And Aramis grins at Athos. "I find it hard to believe that you escaped your adolescence —" 

"Aramis." 

"— without so much as a —" 

"Aramis, I will stab you." 

"— fantasy about —" 

Athos reaches for his dagger — 

And Aramis snickers like a *boy*, which is something he almost never does unless he's *extremely* drunk. 

Porthos wags a finger at him. "Behave yourself, Aramis. No storytime for bad children." 

"I am the best of — children? Porthos!"

"Oh, yeah. Those wide eyes, that soft hair —" 

Athos huffs *twice* — 

"Porthos, you —" 

"Those downy... um... beard-bristles —" 

d'Artagnan *chokes* — 

"Porthos, my friend, I now want to know more about your *other* fantasies." 

"But 's not my *turn*." 

"You haven't even shared the fantasy about bending over for — but you don't have to! Tell us more about you and young boys!" 

d'Artagnan *yanks* the wineskin away from Athos — 

"I needed that." 

"I needed it more!" And d'Artagnan drinks — 

A bit — 

And a bit more than that. 

And then he hands it back to Athos. 

"*Thank* you." 

"You're —" 

Porthos wags a finger at *Athos*. "You're teaching our boy bad habits, you know." 

"Oh, yes. Why, next I'll be dragging him with me to every brothel in Paris and teaching him about every possible sort of deviant sexual activity," Athos says, and *looks* at Porthos.

Porthos bites the tip of his tongue. 

Aramis wraps an arm around d'Artagnan's shoulders. "You *like* the teaching, do you not?" 

"I — *yes*." 

"*See*?" 

Porthos raises his eyebrows and spreads his hands. 

And Athos huffs again. "Very well. *Do* carry on." 

"Oh, but — would this make you uncomfortable, Athos?" And d'Artagnan tries to study the man in the gloom — 

"No," Athos says, and smiles. "Though I find it fascinating that it wouldn't make *you* uncomfortable." 

d'Artagnan frowns — "I'm not a complete — I mean, I've *seen* the boys throwing themselves at Porthos when we go to brothels that, you know, have them. And I *was* a boy not so long ago, as much as I hate to admit it." 

"And... you were making love," Athos says, and smiles *privately* for a long moment. 

"Athos? I mean — yeah, I was. A *lot*. I had *friends* —" 

"Did you desire... adults?" 

"There were a few older people around who popped in and out of my fantasies, but —" d'Artagnan shakes his head. "The world was a little... too small." 

They all nod. 

"Did you... not want anyone?" 

Athos smiles wryly. "Until I met 'Anne', I desired... no one. As far as I understood the term. When I masturbated, there was nothing..." Athos shakes his head and licks his lips. "When she came... the floodgates opened. For better or for worse." 

d'Artagnan tries *very* hard to hold back a wince — 

"It's all right, d'Artagnan. I'm not about to fall into a black pit of my own memories right now." 

"Um. You're not? I mean — *good* —" 

"I'm not. You're all about to distract me, after all," Athos says, and *grins*. 

"That's *right*," Porthos says. "So let's put it to a vote: Treville bending me over, Treville *bending* me, or pretty boys?" 

"Boys!" Aramis says, and then leans in to whisper *loudly* in d'Artagnan's ear. "We can *always* get him to talk about *Treville*."

"Wait, though, I want to know more *about* the bending." 

Athos shrugs with just his face again — 

And Porthos laughs and shifts to lean on one elbow on his bedroll. "There's nothing to say we can't just *keep* telling stories all night — or when we're back on our horses if this rain ever slackens off." 

Aramis gasps and grins — "You do love me!" 

"Yes, I *do*, you arse. So. We're talking about the bending, right?"And Porthos looks at *him* — 

And d'Artagnan has to admit that he really did ask about — no, wait, wait. "You all — you all like it. Right? It's not just Porthos?" 

"*Oh* yes, friend d'Artagnan. We have had this discussion — in not *much* detail — before, and we discovered that we *all* enjoy bending and being bent." 

d'Artagnan blushes and just — no, carry on. "And you figured this out from doing it? Or from fantasizing?" 

"Both, lad." 

"*Definitely* both," Aramis says. 

"*Doing*," Athos says, and huffs painfully. 

Right. *Right*. "I promise I'll stop um — stomping on you —" 

"d'Artagnan," Athos says, and smiles at him. "It's *my* choice to continue to participate in this conversation — as much as I am." And he raises an eyebrow. 

"And maybe it's a little ridiculous for me to keep trying to protect you?" d'Artagnan smiles ruefully. 

"There's nothing ridiculous about brotherhood," Athos says, and looks at him — hard and steadily. 

And that — 

d'Artagnan licks his lips. "I agree. I agree with that. Wholeheartedly." 

Aramis kisses his *cheek* — "*Good*. Do *nothing* about your natural protectiveness, d'Artagnan. It suits you *well*." 

Porthos takes the wineskin from Athos and drinks. "That it does, lad. It's just one of the *countless* reasons why I knew — *we* knew — you belonged with us." 

And Athos and Aramis nod. 

d'Artagnan turns to Aramis with a wry smile. "You needed a little more time..."

"Ah, I always do," Aramis says, with an airy wave. "When Porthos first told me of his fantasies about Treville — about the *Captain* — I was *horrified* —" 

"*You* were?" 

"Oh, yes! How could he trust that man so far? How could he trust him with the deepest secrets of his soul?" 

"I — oh." 

"You see? Always I need time to trust — truly trust. Though I trust my *brothers'* judgments. Provisionally," he says, and grins and reaches for the wineskin with his free hand. He doesn't let go of d'Artagnan with the other. 

"And *we* trust Aramis to be a suspicious bastard when we all need him to be," Porthos says.

"Oh, yes," Athos says, and hums. "Though I do my best in that respect, as well." 

Porthos snickers. "You all bloody do! It's up to me to be the *friendly* one."

"Porthos!" 

"Are you protesting? Are you bloody protesting *that*?" 

"I am *very* friendly!" 

"No, you're sodding not!" 

"I submit to you that there are *many* beautiful women, highborn and low —" 

"The fact that your *prick* is friendly has nothing to do with the rest of you, *Aramis*." 

Aramis licks his lips. "I... ah..."

Athos looks extremely interested in how Aramis will answer. 

Porthos is *glowering* — "Make it good, now."

"It is... attached?" 

"Hm. Weak," Athos says, and lies back on both of his elbows. 

"*Very* weak," Porthos says, shaking his head.

Aramis sighs dejectedly and turns to him from — very close. "What about you, d'Artagnan? Have I forever been judged unfriendly in your heart?" 

"Uh. You *threatened my life*." 

"You did —" 

"Say something that vaguely — *vaguely* — implied that Porthos wasn't as innocent as an *infant*?" 

"I —" 

"While never actually saying that I wouldn't *help* you and Athos help Porthos? Because of course I bloody *would*?" 

"I..." Aramis licks his lips again. "Hm." He turns to Porthos. "So about your fantasies about our dear Captain —" 

Porthos laughs *hard* — 

Athos huffs — 

And d'Artagnan snickers — 

Aramis *rocks* him back and forth. "d'Artagnan is young! Tender! Unlearned!" 

"*Hey*!" 

"He must benefit from your greater knowledge, my friend —" 

"I'm about to threaten *your* life —" 

"Always I am unappreciated. Always I am subjected to violence and approbation —" 

Porthos is *guffawing* again — 

"Is it any wonder that I don't trust?"

Athos shakes his head and smiles so *warmly* —

And Aramis is looking at him — *smiling* at him — with sparkling eyes — 

So — 

"I've fantasized about it," d'Artagnan blurts.

Aramis blinks. "About...?"

Shit — 

Fuck — 

No, no. "About... bending. And — the other way round. I've um. I've had a *lot* of thoughts like that, actually," d'Artagnan says, and laughs nervously. 

And Porthos isn't laughing anymore — 

And Athos is *looking* at him — 

And Aramis is humming. "And perhaps you were... berating yourself about them?" 

"Fuck, *a lot* —" 

"Because they were not the proper fantasies to have —" 

"Exactly, and I — I kept thinking that the other — people — would hate me even worse for them." 

Aramis blinks once — "Worse than they would for fantasizing about them in the first place?" 

"*Yes* — but. Porthos hits on bloody *Treville*, so maybe I should stop worrying," d'Artagnan says, and laughs a little painfully. 

Athos huffs *several* times and breaks off a piece of the hard traveling bread. "I think," he says, "that you could do worse than to think that way." 

"I —" 

"I am very pleased to hear you say this, friend Athos! Have *you* begun thinking this way?" 

"Absolutely not." 

d'Artagnan *coughs* —

Porthos throws his wet scarf at Athos — 

Athos *grins* — 

And Aramis squeezes him. "*I* think this way." 

"You — you don't have any shame at *all* when it comes to sex!" 

"That is *not* true." 

"What shame do you *have*?"

And he's expecting a joke, or — or something — 

But Aramis just looks at him. 

Looks at him for long *moments* — 

"Aramis? What is it?" 

"Do you want to know this thing? Truly?" 

Oh... "I want to know everything. I want — about all of you."

And Aramis... blushes. Or maybe flushes. It's hard to tell. It's — 

"Then you *will* know everything, d'Artagnan," Aramis says, serious and low. "Will he not?" 

"He will," Porthos says.

Athos nods. "He will." 

d'Artagnan shivers — 

"Then I will speak of my shame, and I will help d'Artagnan understand why he must not injure himself this way." 

"Oh —" 

"It's *not* my turn?" 

"It will be your turn *again*, Porthos. We can agree that you have used your first turn to be most educational!" 

"Well. All *right*," Porthos says and snorts, jerking his chin at d'Artagnan. "I promise to be *extra* dirty next time." 

"Oh fuck —" 

"Excellent! I will now talk about my fantasies about Porthos," Aramis says — 

Porthos sits up — "You'll do sodding *what*?" 

Athos *stares* at Aramis — 

And Aramis smiles ruefully. "Young d'Artagnan wished to hear about my shame, did he not?" 

"You — but — what — *Aramis*!" 

Aramis shrugs and cuddles closer to d'Artagnan, and he doesn't know *what* to think — 

At *all* — 

"This, I think, is the best place to begin."


	3. Well, Porthos, your brothers are arseholes, but they're *your* — waaait a minute.

Porthos is — staring. Just — 

Bloody *staring*. 

He doesn't know what else he *can* do, because — 

Because Aramis is giving *him* that pleading look. 

That please-*let*-me look, and that — 

There's only ever been one *answer* to that, and that hasn't changed, but — "Aramis..." 

"I will say... everything, my friend." 

"And I can ask questions?"

Aramis shivers, still pressed close to *d'Artagnan* — 

He has to know they could've — 

At any sodding *time* —

"*Aramis* —" 

"You will — please let me speak. Please let me speak, Porthos. And when I finish, I will answer all of your questions." 

Porthos swallows and — nods. 

It's all he bloody *can* do — no, Athos is handing him the wineskin. He can drink. 

He can definitely drink. 

And Aramis shivers — 

Porthos hands the skin over — 

Their fingers touch — 

That's not *new* — 

That's not bloody — 

But Porthos has been fantasizing about Aramis every time he couldn't *stop* himself from doing it for over four *years* now, and — 

And he doesn't think he can be sodding blamed for feeling like this tent is a lot more humid than it was five minutes ago. 

*Aramis* is flushed, right down into his shirt.

d'Artagnan is looking back and forth between them with a head full of questions of his *own* — 

And Athos is keeping his own counsel — for now. 

Right. Just — right. "Go on, Aramis. Share — tell us about it." 

Aramis *looks* at him *gratefully* —

The way he would in the old days, when it seemed like every time Porthos proved he was a good bloke was another *revelation* for Aramis — 

Porthos wants to pick him up and *shake* him — 

And then he wants to do about a million really *sticky* things. He takes the skin back, instead. 

Drinks — 

And watches Aramis turn to d'Artagnan, and smile. "What you must understand, friend d'Artagnan, is that Porthos made it clear from the very beginning that he desired me." 

"I'm um. Not surprised by that? At *all*? You *know* all the other men told *me* that you two were *probably* fucking, right?" 

Aramis laughs ruefully — 

"I mean, some of the men said you were *definitely* fucking, and had been from the beginning. *All* of the men warned me about hacking off one or the other one of you —" 

"You almost certainly should have listened to that," Athos says, and eats another piece of bread. 

"*Thank* you, Athos —" 

"You're very welcome." 

"*Arsehole*." 

Athos grins, eyes glittering a little — and Porthos knows *he* plans to keep this — whatever it turns out to be — from getting too serious. 

That he plans to protect their brotherhood *that* way. 

Which — 

Which is more than Porthos can do. 

All he can do is listen, right now. 

"What did *you* think, friend d'Artagnan?" 

"That you were fucking. And then that you were *definitely* fucking. And then... then I wasn't sure. And then I knew you *weren't*, and I was really *confused*. And then I knew you weren't, and I was *less* confused, because I knew you didn't go with men or boys, Aramis, despite *seeming* like the sort of person who would —" 

Aramis *coughs* again — 

"And now I'm back to being *really* bloody confused." 

"That is fair. If you had asked the boy I was when I was thirteen, when I was still in the brothel my mother raised me in —" 

*d'Artagnan* coughs — 

"We'll tell you all of that story later, lad." 

"I — all right!" 

Aramis smiles ruefully again. "If you had asked *that* boy about Porthos, and about Porthos's many honest, open, *beautiful* offers? *He* would have already been turning back Porthos's sheets — with his mother's blessing. His mother's eager and perhaps somewhat *vicious* blessing — she would not have wished for me to let Porthos get *away*!" 

"Oh — oh. You... you know that about her." 

"Oh, yes! She was very clear about what sort of person she desired for me. And, more and more as I age, I believe she was correct..." 

Porthos doesn't *pounce* — 

"But... there was my father." 

"Um. Yes?" 

Aramis's smile is pained. "He returned to Paris when I *was* thirteen to *claim* me, to take me *away* from my mother, and drag me to a small village in the mountains near the Spanish border. He was... strict. He was also very religious. He had been unable to have children with his first wife, who had died, and, when he saw how well I read and wrote, he began to dream of having a bishop in the family." 

Porthos growls. 

Aramis smiles at him wryly. "Yes, my friend, you know this tale. But... d'Artagnan does not." 

Porthos nods and forces himself to subside. As much as he *can* — 

"He taught me much of... sin. Of the sins I had grown up *steeped* in, and which I had committed all-unknowing. I was skeptical at first, to say the least, but he was not an unintelligent man, and when he sent me to a Church school..." 

"Oh — oh, God, *Aramis*! They — they *made* you think you were dirty!"

"No, friend d'Artagnan, they made me think that I was a *sinner*, that I was, in some ways, an especially *foul* sinner, who had taken himself away from God's grace and light —" 

"*Fuck* —" 

"That everything I knew, everything I understood, everything I *was* before then was explicitly wrong, and dangerous, and —" Aramis cuts himself off and bares his teeth. "I was sixteen when I came home from that school for the first time. 'Home', to my father's small village. I was... smaller inside.

"And I met Isabelle." 

"Oh —" And d'Artagnan hugs Aramis tight — 

Porthos *wants* to — 

He's bloody terrified of what else he'll do. 

He's — "Aramis..." 

"I... I have had this grief for a long time, my friend, though in truth she only just —" He growls and shakes his head, pushing back from d'Artagnan —

"Don't —" 

"Wait, please?" 

d'Artagnan frowns — 

Athos is sitting up again — 

And Porthos is still ready to *grab* Aramis. He has the *strong* suspicion that that's not going to change anytime soon. 

"Thank you," Aramis says. "The important thing is what she said to me before she was killed. How she'd *wanted* to leave me after her miscarriage. How she'd known the *truth* of me, under all the smallness that Church school had laid over me like a *heavy* cloak. How she'd known I'd needed... something wilder and wider than she could ever give. This hurt me — badly. I had spent many years bitterly angry with my father and hers — for many things, but for separating us most of all — and I had lived my life as though there were a love I *could* have returned to, and lived a normal, pastoral life, if only cruel Fate had not intervened." 

"Bloody *hell*, Aramis!" 

Aramis winces. "I — I know what you wish to say, friend Porthos." 

"*Do* you? We *all* know what you wound up doing with the bloody Queen because you were so *fucking* lost after Isabelle was murdered, and we *understand*, but — your whole life? Your whole *life*?" 

Aramis closes his eyes — 

Tilts his head back — 

d'Artagnan reaches out for him, but *hesitates* to pull him into another hug, and Porthos bloody can't. He — 

He crawls across the tiny space and *yanks* Aramis into his arms — 

Aramis gasps — "Porthos —" 

"Shut it and take the hug." 

Aramis laughs painfully. "You should be taking me to task for lying to myself for decades, my friend —" 

"*Shut* it —" 

"I knew — I *knew* the Church was full of lies —" 

"You — did?" And that was d'Artagnan — 

"I — you should all let me speak of religion more," Aramis says, and laughs again — 

Athos hums. "Aramis is a heretic, d'Artagnan. He does *not* follow Church doctrine." 

"What — *really*?" 

Porthos laughs and strokes Aramis's back through his coat. "He never has, for as long as we've known him —" 

"Longer! I've *known* —" 

"That's right," Porthos says, in the most soothing voice he has. "You got your hot little hands on bibles, and you read them from cover to cover, just like you do with *all* books —" 

"*Yes* — and the truth —" 

"The truth is different from what the Church teaches," Porthos says. 

"And *kinder*," Aramis says. "So much — so much more *accepting*. There is *room* for brotherhood, for *our* brotherhood —" 

"We probably shouldn't have gotten him started," Athos says, and drinks. 

Porthos *snorts* —

"*Listen* —" 

"Wait, wait, Aramis," d'Artagnan says, "you're beating yourself up for still feeling dirty and — and foul, right? Even though the things you learned from the bible somehow said you shouldn't?" 

"Not *somehow* —" 

"Answer the question, brother," Porthos says, and kisses Aramis's temple. 

Aramis *grunts* — 

Porthos *flushes* —

"Yes, do," Athos says, just a little too smoothly to be completely natural. 

"I — yes. But —" 

"And we've already agreed that none of this is easy, that the world makes the cloak we all wear with all the shame and bad feelings really *heavy* and hard to take off, right?" 

"I —" 

"Answer the question, Aramis," Athos says. 

"*Yes* —" 

"And *your* cloak was really *extra* heavy, because you were in Church schools — and also bloody *seminary* — after you were *grieving* — right?" 

Aramis doesn't say anything. 

At all — 

At *all* — 

"Aramis, brother, I love you, but I *will* punch you —" 

"*Fuck* — *yes*!" 

"Right, so, you know what this means, right?" 

And Aramis turns in Porthos's arms enough to blink and *stare* at d'Artagnan — "Wasn't I supposed to be making *you* feel better?" 

"Well, you were definitely supposed to be telling me about your *fantasies* —" 

"Oh — God —" 

"And not about any sad things —" 

"*Shit* —" 

"Yeah, brother, you've broken the rules twice over now," Porthos says, shaking his head mock-sadly — 

"I *apologize* —"

"You should probably make amends... somehow," Athos says, and smiles. 

Aramis pants — 

Stares at all of them in turn with an almost *panicked* look on his face, which is *worrying* — 

"Brother —" 

"My fantasies about Porthos are *legion*," Aramis says — and it's *not* a blurt. 

It's — 

"Oh. Well. What kinds of things do you fantasize about?" 

Shit — 

"*Everything*." 

*Shit* —

"At first, when we were coming to know each other, my fantasies were basic. He would hold me down and fuck me hard. He would order me to my knees and tell me exactly how to pleasure him with my mouth —" 

"*Fuck*, brother —" 

"That's *basic*?" 

Aramis smiles wryly — and his eyes are sparkling just a little again. "After I left the seminary — after I *escaped* — I was... wild. I knew that I needed Paris. I knew that I needed a wider life. A *wilder* life. It did not take me long to discover that I needed the Musketeers, but I had no training with the sword, and little knowledge of knives. 

"I whored myself for both — I had no money to pay for teachers — and this taught me... many things. Many things that were not unfamiliar to the fantasies and dreams and *other* things I had developed *in* those Church schools — or the life I had in the brothel before I ever knew my father." 

"But —" And d'Artagnan frowns. 

"Understand, friend d'Artagnan — the cassocks hide many, many, many, *many* sins." 

"No, I *know* that. But you... it's *impossible* to think of you not *always* knowing how to... well, *destroy* people." 

Aramis blinks — and stops.

Porthos takes the time to *breathe* — 

"That is what... gives you pause, d'Artagnan?" 

"Well... yes? I already *knew* you whored yourself —" 

"He really did, Aramis. I mean. He knows that about both of us," Porthos says, and tries to feel like himself, tries not to feel *lightheaded* — 

He's getting *hard* —

"It's true that he does," Athos says, again just a little too smoothly. 

He's trying to *save* Porthos — 

But Porthos can't let go. 

Can't — 

Only if Aramis pulls *back* — 

Only if Aramis *needs* him to let go —

He breathes. 

He breathes —

And Aramis smiles at d'Artagnan. "I am... flattered —" 

"Don't be *flattered*. You're incredible. You're *all* incredible. I want to learn from you. To *keep* learning from you —" 

"We'll teach you everything we know, lad." 

"While we continue to learn ourselves," Athos says, and takes the skin from d'Artagnan. 

"Yes, *this*," Aramis says. "I —" He shakes his head. "Where was I?"

"Your *basic* fantasies about Porthos." 

Fuck, fuck, *fuck* — 

"Oh, yes. I did not truly *know* him. I was using his face and body and voice to fill in dearly-loved fantasies which had eased me over the years when I was *alone*. Do you see?" 

d'Artagnan raises an eyebrow. At both of them. "And you think you wouldn't have gotten that from him? I mean — he *wants* you." 

Fucking — 

And Aramis parts his lips — 

And flushes a little *darker* — 

"One should not... should not simply..." But Aramis trails off without finishing, and starts to shift *uncomfortably* — 

And Porthos bloody *can't* let him *move*. Not yet. Not — he grips Aramis by the hips — 

"*Shit* — *Porthos* —" 

*Hauls* him over his thighs — 

"Porthos, I —" 

"Just — stay. For a little longer," Porthos says, and his voice isn't — he knows he doesn't have *any* kind of control over his *voice*, but — 

But Aramis is looking at *him* with those wide eyes, with his lips parted and his cheeks *dark* — 

Porthos doesn't *growl* — 

Porthos doesn't *take* a kiss — 

"Porthos..." 

"Yeah. Yeah, Aramis." 

"You want me to... stay close?"

"I do. While you tell your tale." 

Aramis *winces* —

Porthos *squeezes* his hips bloody *helplessly* —

"What you may not have realized, d'Artagnan," Athos says, "is that Aramis never once *said* anything to Porthos that would imply that Porthos's desires were returned. At least not in my presence." 

"But." 

"Never," Porthos says, and *strokes* Aramis's hips. "Never *once*, because I would've *pounced* on the hint — the *scrap* — and worried it down to nothing — in the hopes of getting everything." 

Aramis pants again. "Everything, Porthos?" 

"*Everything*."

d'Artagnan takes a bite of the bread and chews, staring in *fascination* — 

Athos rolls the denuded skin up and pulls out a second — 

And Porthos — can't wait. "Why don't you tell us all what your fantasies became once you *did* know me." 

Aramis — moans. 

"Oh... brother." 

"I wonder. I wonder if everyone wishes... to know."

And Porthos *knows* that he's not only talking about sharing his fantasies, that he's talking about what he and Porthos are *about* to start doing in the middle of the very crowded *tent*, but — 

He still has to growl. "I want to know." 

"Yes. Yes, Porthos. I —" 

"And... I want to know. Too," d'Artagnan says, and smiles ruefully. 

Porthos blinks and *looks* at him — 

"Everything, Porthos. Just — everything. Please." 

"Personally," Athos says, and takes a *small* drink. "I've grown *extremely* tired of being left out of things. Of leaving *myself* out of things." 

And that — 

Is everything Porthos wants. 

Everything he — 

Just the brotherhood, the *family*. The chance to *have* everything with his brothers, or at least with his brothers right bloody there to share it *near* him —

He growls and kisses Aramis's *throat*, wet and slick and *hard* — 

"Ah — *ahn* —" 

Aramis *grips* his shoulders — 

Porthos *bites* — 

Aramis shouts and *bucks* — 

And Porthos pulls back before he *needs* to suck an *obvious* mark higher than Aramis's collar goes. 

"Oh — oh, *Porthos* —" 

"I've wanted to do that since I *met* you."

And Aramis smiles at him so brightly, so — "This is what you said to me! This is *one* of the things you said to me that day, in your low and laughing and *insinuating* voice, and I fantasized about it *many* times — oh, *Porthos*." 

"Wait, he was actually telling you what he wanted to *do* to you?" 

"In *detail*," Aramis says, and rubs and massages Porthos's shoulders while he turns to grin at d'Artagnan like a boy. "All while I alternately hungered to *fling* myself at him and ached to *flee* from him for the sake of my *confused* and *embittered* immortal soul." 

"Oh —" And d'Artagnan winces. 

"That sounds remarkably uncomfortable and unpleasant," Athos says. "I don't believe I've ever felt more akin to you, Aramis." 

Porthos *coughs*. "*Athos*."

"You all know *exactly* what my sexual history has been."

"Yes, we *do*," Aramis says. "When can we do something about your sexual *present*?" 

Athos smiles. "I believe you have a tale to tell, Aramis." 

Aramis makes a sour face —

"Worry about *his* cock later, brother," Porthos says — 

"He should worry about yours now?" And d'Artagnan is grinning — and grinning at where Porthos is *gripping* Aramis's hips —

"He should *absolutely* be worrying about my cock. It's been starved and *deprived* for nearly five bloody years —" 

"And now it is angry, my Porthos?"

My — Porthos growls and bites him again — 

Again — 

Bites his pretty throat all *over* the place, and Aramis is *groaning*, shaking, pushing *into* it, and Porthos doesn't know *why* he isn't sucking — 

He noses down under that collar like a *sane* person and sucks — 

Sucks *hard* — 

Aramis makes a *guttural* noise — 

Squeezes Porthos's shoulders *convulsively* —

"Oh, Porthos — *Porthos* —"

Porthos pulls back with a slurp, studying the mark he'd left behind. Studying — and growling a little more. 

Aramis pants — 

And pants — 

"Porthos... you have marked me?" 

"I have. How d'you feel about that?" And Porthos turns to meet Aramis's eyes. Aramis's wide eyes, *blown* eyes — 

"I am. I am very happy about this," Aramis says, grinning like a boy and laughing — 

"You're so *beautiful*..." 

Aramis laughs more. "Your Aramis will be beautiful for you all the *time* if you keep doing *that*." 

"My — *fuck*, Aramis — don't *do* that." 

And Aramis's eyes are sly. "Are you about to bite again? Suck? Take?" 

"I —" 

"Have you always wanted Porthos to lose control for you, Aramis...?" And that was *Athos* — 

And d'Artagnan makes a small sound — 

He's just *holding* a scrap of bread close to his mouth and staring —

Porthos doesn't know if he should apologize or *not* — 

And Aramis is shivering. "It did not take long before Porthos was inviting me to visit ladies of custom with him. I thought, at first, that this was another way for him to seduce me — and I was pleased and charmed and excited and *fearful* — but he never *once* tried to move beyond the boundaries I set." 

d'Artagnan snorts. "So you were *frustrated* and fearful?" 

"And confused! And relieved! And, of course, desperately aroused. *You* know, friend d'Artagnan, how our Porthos is with ladies of custom." 

"I never go *in* with you —" 

"But you *hear* us, yes?" 

d'Artagnan blushes. "I — yeah. They all love you both. I could *hear* it on the next *block*." 

Aramis grins. "So, you *know*." 

"He's... um. Aggressive." 

"Yes!" 

"But really — he's also really careful. Really — *fun* and careful. You're careful, too, but you're not as *fixated* about it as Porthos seems to be." 

Porthos blinks — 

Athos looks fascinated and like he's tucking all of this away for *later* — 

And Aramis is smiling brightly and *softly*. 

"Oh — you always look like you're about to start *cooing* at me when you look at me like that, Aramis!" 

"Not that, d'Artagnan, but — I love how well you *see* the world around you!" 

"I just look!" 

"You will find that *most* people are incapable of this —" 

"Most people are really *stupid*!" 

Aramis coughs — "Ah — well, yes. But! My point! I saw how *careful* our Porthos was, how *measured* with his powerful limbs and rough hands, and I *immediately* began dreaming of having him use them on me far more precipitously." 

Oh, shit — 

"That doesn't *quite* answer my question, Aramis," Athos says, and smiles *evilly* — 

"Oh, you *arse* —" 

Athos hums. "No, no, this is quite edifying —" 

"I'll *give* you edifying!" 

And Athos *looks* at Porthos for a long moment — 

A *strange* and *hungry* moment — 

And then he turns back to Aramis. "My question?" 

And that — 

That had been — 

Aramis looks back and forth between them and licks his lips — and grins. "I have *always* wanted him to lose his control with me... but I did not want this every *night*." 

Oh, thank fuck — 

"No...?" 

"Sometimes I merely dreamed of him *using* his perfect control to hurt me, to make me *feel* him, to make me feel how long I had made him *wait* —" 

"*Aramis* —" 

"And I cannot help but wonder, friend Athos, if I am the only one who has had such desires."

*Shit* — 

But Athos is silent — 

So bloody *silent* — 

Porthos can't — he *looks* at Athos, and the man is staring down at the second wineskin like it *can* save him, but just won't. "Athos..."

Athos looks up — and looks to d'Artagnan. "d'Artagnan." 

"Uh. Yeah?" 

"Porthos used to proposition *me* rather often, as well." 

"Grk — no, wait, I'm feeling left out now." 

Porthos *coughs* — 

"Yes, my Porthos, why have you not told d'Artagnan about how much you enjoy his beautiful mouth, his dark skin, his strong —" 

"*Aramis*!" 

Aramis smiles sweetly. "Brothers should be honest with each other. You always tell me this thing." 

"I believe he's now goading you to *punish* him, Porthos," Athos says, and smiles again. 

"Have you thought much about being punished by our Porthos, friend Athos?" 

Athos gives Aramis a *horrified* look — 

And d'Artagnan chews and swallows his bread. "I think you really should've seen that coming, at this point, Athos." 

"I." 

"Also, my strong *what* exactly? And is there anything else you like — lust for — about me? And why *didn't* you say anything, Porthos?" 

Porthos... thinks he understands Treville's hunted looks a little better. *But*. "I would like to point out, at this juncture, that *Aramis* also likes your mouth." 

"It's a good mouth," d'Artagnan says. "I've had a lot of luck with it, sexually, as these things go." 

"Oh, yes?" And Aramis leans over. "Tell us —" 

Porthos clears his throat. "*Aramis* thinks you'd look right attractive on your *knees*, d'Artagnan." 

A silence falls over the tent. 

It's a deep silence. 

It's a *thorough* silence, given the rain outside — 

It's a *lasting* silence, and Porthos has more than enough time to really *think* about what he'd just bloody *said* — 

Just — 

*Shit* — 

d'Artagnan licks his lips. 

"I — look, lad, I'm —" 

"What do *you* think?" 

"Uhh..." 

Athos huffs that little not-laugh *repeatedly*. 

Aramis snickers again — 

"I mean, you think my mouth is beautiful —" 

"Yes, but —" 

"So presumably you've had some other thoughts about it —" 

"I — that's not —" 

"What are they?" 

Aramis is grinning *brightly* —

So is bloody *Athos* — 

"I... d'Artagnan, I —" 

"Porthos. We can get back to torturing the others in a minute," d'Artagnan says — 

"*Fuck*," Aramis says — 

"Oh. Yeah?" 

"Yes, because this is incredibly — I want this. I want all of this," d'Artagnan says. "But you keep trying to get the *Captain* to have sex with you!" 

"This is true —" 

"*Why* haven't you tried with me? I mean, if you do — I mean. *Do* you want me?" And d'Artagnan is *blushing* now, and fidgeting in place a little, and he looks like he's *thinking* about what he's been saying, and — 

Thinking in the wrong ways. That won't do. "I do, lad. I *really* do. But — uh. I don't make time with the recruits." 

"What?" 

"I don't —" 

"No, I heard you, but — *what*?" 

"I —" 

"You have sex with young boys! Apparently a *lot*!" 

"That's... different?" And now Porthos is squirming a little — 

d'Artagnan is *glaring* at him —

Aramis is bloody *smirking* — 

"All right, look, Aramis, *you* have no bloody excuses, either —" 

"Oh, I know this thing! I am simply enjoying *you* not having the moral high ground for once!" 

Athos huffs *again* — 

Coughs — 

*Hums* — "You know, d'Artagnan, it truly is *better* for commissioned Musketeers not to dally with recruits —" 

"*Thank* you, Athos —" 

"I'm not an idiot. I *know* what you're saying," d'Artagnan says — 

"*Good*!" 

"*But* — commissioned men don't normally *ride* with recruits!" 

"Not unless the recruits are generally assumed to be *close* to getting their commissions," Aramis says, just going ahead and throwing *another* fox among the chickens — 

"*Exactly*! *That*!" 

Porthos drags a hand down over his face. 

"Did you think I *wouldn't* get my commission, Porthos?" 

"*No*! I *knew* you would! I was surprised it took as long as it *did*!" 

"*So*?" 

"I..."

"And, for that matter, you're practically the closest of friends with all the whores you *do* patronize. Would it really have been 'dallying' with me?" 

Aramis smiles brilliantly at *him*. 

Athos sounds dangerously close to *actually* laughing — 

And d'Artagnan's got that jaw sticking out. 

"Right, I surrender," Porthos says. "I was wrong, *you're* right, I should've been trying to make time with you from the beginning, even though you're significantly younger than me, were a recruit, and were also *grieving*." 

"I — oh." 

Porthos *looks* at d'Artagnan. 

"We're not talking about sad things!" 

"Lad —" 

"We're *not*," d'Artagnan says, "and — I want to know. *How* would you have tried to make time with me?" 

"I —" 

"He would've gotten you *alone*, friend d'Artagnan —" 

"Or simply alone *enough*," Athos says. "As an example, a quieter space in a busy tavern." 

"He would've smiled into your beautiful dark *eyes*." 

"My — ah." And d'Artagnan *looks* at Aramis — 

Aramis *winks* — 

And Athos hums again. "He would've shown you everything in *his* eyes. All of his happiness with you. All of his desire to be your friend and brother — and more." 

"All of his *hunger*, friend d'Artagnan." 

"Oh —" 

"Yes, *that*," Athos says. "He would have leaned in — closer than he normally does, but not egregiously so." 

"Oh, no, no, not that," Aramis says. "He would never push that way." 

"He would never... force himself on you." 

"No matter how much such a thing was dearly wished," Aramis says, and grins like a bloody *demon* — 

"Right, we're talking about that one," Porthos says — 

"You are making me an even happier man!" 

"I can't believe you were keeping this all *back*!" 

"I —" And Aramis dips his head. "I apologize, my Porthos. I apologize — there are no words to make amends for my many lies." 

"*Aramis* —" 

"But I will give you action. So much — I will give you everything you *wish*," he says, and looks up again, staring into Porthos's eyes with wild hunger and desperation —

And Porthos pants and stares back and —

And squeezes Aramis's hips hard enough to maybe bruise, a little — 

Aramis shudders and *moans* — 

He doesn't look away — 

He doesn't even *blink* — 

"There's nothing I don't want from you," Porthos says, and leans in close enough to suck Aramis's lower lip — 

Aramis grunts *hard* — 

"That is precisely one of the things he would *not* do, were he propositioning you, d'Artagnan," Athos says. 

d'Artagnan laughs. "Yeah, but would he *say* those things? Those — all of those *things*?" 

"Well... some of them." 

Porthos pulls back with a slurp. "I would say *all* of them —" 

"You would *not*, my Porthos —" 

"*Oi* —" 

"Forgive me, but you never once told *me* that there would be no limits to our lovemaking." And Aramis raises an eyebrow. 

"What —" 

"You also never told *me* such a thing." 

"I — what. Wait." Porthos turns to Athos. "Would it have *helped*?" 

Athos ducks his head and smiles. 

And Porthos knows that non-answer. 

He — 

They *all* know that non-answer — 

"All right, look, you people need to *tell* me these things!" 

Aramis laughs — 

Athos *huffs* — 

And d'Artagnan —"I'm attracted to you, and I'm very interested in what 'everything' means." 

"Y'see? *He* gets it. Right, what everything means is that we *talk* about what you like, and what you don't like, and what you've *sort* of liked *sometimes*, and we do the same for me, and we work out what sounds good for both of us, and what sounds terrible, and what sounds like things we want to try out even if they weren't so good for us before, or even if we have no *idea* whether we'd like them or not. And then we do them. A *lot*." 

d'Artagnan stares at him. 

Porthos raises his eyebrows. 

"Why does anyone break *up* with you?" 

"We've all asked this question, d'Artagnan," Athos says. 

"Yes, this is so," Aramis says. 

Porthos blinks. "I —" 

"Shut it," Athos says. 

"Yes, my Porthos, there is nothing you can say at this point." 

Porthos glowers. 

d'Artagnan snickers. 

"I don't like any of you." 

"Yes, you do," Athos says. "Though there have been any number of times when I've wondered *why*." 

"Oh, yes." 

"*Really* —" d'Artagnan snickers more and takes the wineskin back. "We're really *awful*, Porthos. I mean, yeah, you're an arsehole, but you're even really nice and sweet and honest about *that*." 

Porthos stares at him. 

"He has *many* points, my Porthos," Aramis says, and sighs. "Always we must wonder — how do we live *up* to your example?" 

"Do you people not *remember* my bloody *birthday*?" 

"We remember that you wanted to spend the night with us — with your *family*," Athos says. "We remember that you were trying to bring us all together — the way you always do. We remember —" 

"That a man got bloody *murdered* —" 

"Through no fault of your own."

"And —" 

But they're all looking at him. They're all —

Bloody *Charon* — 

Porthos growls and leans back, shaking his head. "I can't. I can't just — you can't cover me in glory for *that*. I won't let you." 

Aramis's eyes soften, and he cups Porthos's face with both hands. "We will... leave that alone, perhaps?" 

"Please —" 

"We will say only that we have admired you as much as we have loved you, my Porthos... and we have loved you very much." 

Porthos inhales — 

Exhales with a shudder — and nods. 

"Though can we —" And d'Artagnan frowns with *pain*. 

"What is it, lad?" 

"Athos said you'd shot gourds and melons and — and everything *else* off Aramis's head *hundreds of times*." 

"Yeah?"

"I."

Porthos raises his eyebrows. 

d'Artagnan looks even *more* pained. 

"What's the problem?" 

And Athos *snorts*. 

*Hard*. 

For a moment, it seems like the world *pauses* as they all try to figure out what the sodding hell to *do* — 

Athos looks *stunned* at himself — 

And Aramis is leaning in. "So, friend Athos, would you say that you have craved Porthos's lack of limitations as *much* as his loss of control, or more? Less?" 

"I. I..." 

C'mon, mate, don't get lost, don't get lost in that black pit in your *head* — "Yeah, mate, this is *important* information, here." 

Athos blinks and *stares* at them — 

And d'Artagnan licks his lips and swallows. "I think if you, you know, *told* Porthos, you could probably *get* somewhere." 

Athos coughs — 

It's rusty and hoarse and has *tone* to it — 

But. He's smiling. "That's what I'm afraid of." 

"Aww —" 

"Don't be *afraid*, Athos —" 

"Aramis knows precisely what I'm talking about." 

"But Aramis is *mad*." 

"d'Artagnan!" 

Athos huffs — 

"He's got you there, love," Porthos says, and smiles at Aramis. 

And Aramis blinks at him, wide-eyed and staring and — 

And Porthos realizes what he'd just said. What — 

Well. 

It's bloody *true*. He strokes up to Aramis's waist and squeezes gently, leans in and *nuzzles* Aramis's mouth — 

"Porthos —" 

"You're the maddest bloke I know, love. And that's always made me just — so *happy*." 

Aramis inhales sharply. "You love me." 

"I fell in love with you *embarrassingly* quickly, Aramis —" 

"I —" 

"I had just gotten used to not having what I wanted. What I ached for."

"I assume he also doesn't say things like that when he's trying to jump down your trousers?" 

Athos hums. "Not to *me*. Aramis?" 

Aramis gurgles. 

"Right, Athos, but would it have *helped*?" 

"I would have fled." 

"*Right*." 

"Headlong." 

"See —" 

"I might have shot you first." 

They all take a moment to stare at Athos. 

Just — a moment. 

Athos takes a drink and smiles ruefully. "The likelihood of these events does depend on how much time I had *recently* spent dwelling on past events." 

"Oh, yeah, yeah, that makes sense." 

"Yes, this is so." 

"You're all bloody *insane*," d'Artagnan says. 

"And now you are *one* of us," Aramis says — 

"Now and *forever*, lad." 

"Mm. The likelihood of escape gets lower by the moment, truly," Athos says, and smiles. 

d'Artagnan gives Athos a suspicious look. 

"Yes...?" 

"How happy about that *are* you?" 

"Ecstatic. You've been... so much to us. *For* us. I was somewhat bemused when Treville *immediately* assigned you to ride with us, but his instincts were and are the best. You —" 

"Athos. Do you *want* me." 

And Athos looks *horrified*, but — 

Porthos can't help snickering.


	4. Well, Athos, your brothers are — helpful. They're helpful.

Porthos is laughing at him. 

Aramis is grinning with truly evil *relish*. 

And d'Artagnan... is waiting for an answer to his question. 

Both Porthos and Aramis would take a smile and allow him to turn away, allow him to deflect with silent consent to anything they were saying —

They've always been so *gentle* with him — 

d'Artagnan is more blunt. 

d'Artagnan is the sort of man who would at least be *tempted* to batter down barriers in his path head-*first*, and they really have to train him *away* from that — 

"*Well*?" 

But. 

That's not going to happen tonight. 

"d'Artagnan —" 

"Don't — don't put me off. Just give me a yes or no answer, Athos. You have to know *I* won't pressure you!" 

"You don't think you're pressuring me now?" 

d'Artagnan rears back — 

Athos doesn't *want* that — 

But d'Artagnan frowns and leans in again. "This, Athos. Just this. And then I won't — I won't." 

"Don't make promises like that." 

"I can *keep* it —" 

"That's precisely what I'm afraid of," Athos says, and swallows, and stares into d'Artagnan's beautiful, yes, beautiful eyes — "I've always been — so afraid..." 

"Don't — *don't* be —" 

"Of course I desire all of you," Athos says, and feels the ground beneath him disappearing — 

Feels himself strangling on his own breath — 

Feels — "Of... course..." But he can't say anything else. He's *trying* to, trying — 

He wants to tell his brothers that he loves them, that he's never been worthy *of* them — 

He wants to tell them of long nights spent dreaming of their touch — 

Their hard hands and bright *laughter* — 

Please, let them never stop *laughing*!

He can't make the words come out of his mouth. 

He can't *breathe* — 

"Oh... Athos..." 

"Brother —" 

"*Brother* —" 

And they're all coming closer, they're all — 

It's not good *practice* to crowd a man who's having trouble *breathing* — 

Oh — 

Oh, God, he'd just *laughed* again —

And those are d'Artagnan's arms wrapped tight around him —

And Porthos is right there to join him — 

And Aramis has somehow squeezed in *behind* Athos, and he's kissing Athos's cheek, and his temple, and he's — 

"Your mouth is so *soft*," Athos blurts, and it's the stupidest *possible* thing to say — 

He has so many better things to *say* — 

And then d'Artagnan kisses his *lips* — "What about mine?"

Athos *pants* — 

*Stares* — 

d'Artagnan is smiling — 

Smiling so ruefully —

"I probably shouldn't have done that —" 

"No, definitely not," Porthos says, and kisses Athos *hard* with his — 

His *plush* mouth — 

"Just like I shouldn't have done that. *Really* shouldn't have done that. Bad form all around, really." 

And. 

They're all studying him. 

They're all waiting for him — 

Waiting for him to say or do or — 

He wants to have something good, something *correct*, or at least *competent* —

He has nothing but desire. 

He has —

The roil of it, the fitful *flush* and — 

He turns — 

He reaches for Aramis's soft *hair* — 

He remembers *every* chance he's had to touch it, to *feel* it — 

"Athos... "

"*Please*." 

"Yes," Aramis says, and leans over Athos's shoulder to kiss him, to — 

To nuzzle and nip at his lips — 

To sip from his mouth and make *love* to his mouth and — 

"Please, *harder*," Athos *slurs* — 

And then Aramis is brutal, hard, rough — 

He *bites* — 

He bites Athos's *scar* — 

"Fuck, I want to do that," Porthos says — 

Athos *groans* —

"I want to do that even *more* now —" 

And Aramis pulls back — "My Porthos should not be denied —" 

"It's not his *turn*," d'Artagnan says, and bites Athos's scar *viciously* hard — 

Athos bucks — 

They all hold him *tighter* — 

Athos isn't certain if he's had a deep breath in *minutes* — 

He wants to breathe *them* in. 

He wants to — 

To *hold* them — 

And d'Artagnan is kissing his jaw, biting him through his beard, nuzzling him — "I've always wanted to *feel* —" 

"Bite his throat, lad —" 

"*Fuck* —" And d'Artagnan does it, does it hard, does it *through* the kerchief — 

Moans and *sucks* — 

Aramis laughs brightly. "You could *move* the kerchief, lovely d'Artagnan..." 

"Give him a minute, give him a minute. A lad builds *fixations*." 

"Does that mean *you* have —" 

"Are you saying you bloody *haven't*?" 

"I, of course, would never lie to you —" 

Porthos snorts and forcibly turns Athos's head — "Brother. Are you ready?" 

"Just the way you say that..." 

"Mm?" 

"It makes me quite certain that I'm *not*. Do it anyway. Do — do everything. *Please*." 

Porthos growls and bites Athos's entire *mouth* — 

Holds it between his teeth — 

Growls *more* — 

Athos is hard and *leaking* in his *breeches* — 

And then Porthos pulls back — 

"No — don't —" 

"Shh," Porthos says, and bites his lower lip, and his upper lip, and his lower lip again — 

And sucks — 

And drags his *beard* over Athos's mouth — 

Athos groans and shudders and tries to free his hands from the tangle of bodies so he can *clutch* — 

But he's already clutching, already — 

And Aramis is biting and sucking at the back of Athos's neck — 

And d'Artagnan is opening his tunic — 

And Porthos presses his thumbs to the hinges of Athos's jaw and *forces* his mouth open — 

Athos makes a *terrible* sound — 

"That's perfect, brother. That's just what I want," Porthos says, and kisses him hard enough to drive him *back* into Aramis — 

d'Artagnan has to lunge for him — 

d'Artagnan bites his throat *over* the kerchief — 

Bites so *hard* — 

Athos is *throbbing*, aching — 

He wants to — 

To *say* — 

He wants to say everything, he wants to explain that this is a dream, that it's better than his dreams, that every moment of his *life* with them has been better than his dreams, but this — 

And then there are strong, deft hands on the laces of his trousers — 

Working him *open* — 

Working — but why is it taking — 

And *then* he realizes that the hands belong to two different people, that they're working somewhat at cross-purposes — 

Athos can't help *arching* into their touch — 

Porthos is still *brutalizing* Athos's mouth with a kiss — 

Aramis pulls back with a *slurp* — "*Let* me, d'Artagnan. I have the better angle!"

"I have... motivation?" And d'Artagnan laughs hard, laughs sweetly, laughs so brightly — 

Athos's cock *spasms* — 

"Oh — oh, *Athos* —" 

"He is *close*, I will be quick," Aramis says, and *wrestles* both arms around Athos until he can open Athos's trousers and breeches at speed — 

"You're really good at that for someone who *wasn't* doing it for *years*," d'Artagnan says — 

"Ah, the muscles remember. Now. Will you suck his cock, lovely d'Artagnan?" 

Athos *shouts* into Porthos's mouth — 

He can't —

He can't *think* — 

"I'm pretty sure I know the answer to that question," d'Artagnan says, and he's laughing again, they're all laughing — 

Porthos is laughing into his *mouth* — 

They're happy — 

They're happy with *him*, and he has to tell them that it's the most incredible thing, that it's always *been* the most — 

The most — 

But Athos is making helpless noise, helpless *garbled* noise, because d'Artagnan has *swallowed* his cock — 

d'Artagnan is gulping and swallowing *around* — 

He — 

"Mm. That sounds promising," Porthos says, pulling back — 

"It *looks* even better, my Porthos." 

"That it does. You've got some *talking* to do, lad," Porthos says, shoving a hand into Athos's hair and *forcing* him to bend his head — 

Forcing him to watch d'Artagnan *fellate* him — 

He — 

His beautiful mouth is so *stretched* — 

He's still *smiling* — 

"I think," Aramis says, and *bites* Athos's ear — 

"Hnh —" 

"I think our young brother should *fuck* himself on Athos's —" 

And Athos *bucks* — 

He can't — 

He bucks *again* — 

d'Artagnan *takes* him — 

Nods and — 

And gestures a *come*-on — 

Athos shakes his head and moans, *moans*, tries to hold himself *rigid* — 

He can't — 

Can't force himself — 

Porthos leans in to mouth and lick his *other* ear — 

Aramis *bites* him again — "Friend Athos... let go." 

No — 

No, you can't — you can't do that — 

d'Artagnan cups Athos's hips and *pulls* on him — 

Tries to *urge* — 

Athos feels his control *fraying* — 

This — 

He's so afraid, he's so afraid, he's — 

Porthos growls *hard* into his ear — 

Athos grunts and *stops* — 

Realizes that he's stopped *clutching* — 

But surely that's correct? He can't — 

"*Athos*. *Fuck* him." 

"NNH —" 

"You must not make him wait..." 

"No — please —" 

"You must not make him..." And Aramis licks around the *shell* of Athos's ear. "You must not make him *ache* for you more than he already does." 

"*Please*!" 

"Brother... fuck him hard," Porthos says, and bites his *jaw* again — 

"Porthos —" 

"Fuck him *dirty*. I know you know how." 

d'Artagnan groans and pulls *harder* — 

Athos's cock jerks and spills so much *slick* — 

He can't — 

He can't *breathe* again — 

"*Fuck* him, Athos," Aramis says. "And then... we will have more." 

Athos freezes — 

"That's it, isn't it?" And Porthos licks up through his beard. "You think it's all going to end when you spend. You think we're all going to *leave* you. Leave our *brother*. Leave our *love*." 

"I —" 

"Nothing *ends*, brother," Porthos says, and forces him to look into his eyes — 

"Please — *please*!" 

"*Do* it!" 

And Athos's hips jerk without his permission, Athos thrusts hard, too *hard* — 

d'Artagnan makes a *surprised* noise — 

Coughs — 

No — 

And then d'Artagnan swallows him again and urges, *urges* — 

"Do it *again*," Porthos says, and he's staring into him, making him, pulling him, forcing — 

Oh, forcing — 

Athos heats all over — 

Athos is sweating and panting and *shaking* — and thrusting — 

Fucking d'Artagnan's *mouth* — 

The sounds are so — 

So wet, so obscene, so *loud* even through the others' panted breaths and the storm — 

"Are you ready to watch it happen, Athos?"

"I — I — I have no *words*!" 

And Porthos narrows his eyes and licks his lips. "Brother, one day I'm going to fuck you so hard you can't bloody *see*. Do *you* think he's ready, love?" 

"I think he *must* see lovely d'Artagnan taking his cock, my Porthos. Whether he is ready or *not*." 

Yes, force him, *force* him, and Porthos is growling and doing it, growling and *turning* him, bending his head once more, and perhaps he'll do that — 

For all of their cocks —

And Athos's rhythm is so ragged, so rough, so — 

So *hard*, but d'Artagnan's eyes are closed and his lashes are fluttering on his cheeks, his cheeks are flushed even darker than usual — 

He — 

He can't possibly be getting anything but the merest *sips* of air — 

He — Athos has to — 

"Don't stiffen *up*, brother!" 

Athos grunts and *bucks* — 

And d'Artagnan's sounds grow even louder, even — 

Even more — 

The moan is chopped and jagged and — 

With Athos's own *cock* —

"*Faster*, Athos," Aramis says, and licks him — 

He's fucking d'Artagnan *faster* — 

"*Harder*," Porthos says, and squeezes the back of his neck — 

And Athos is — is *reaming* d'Artagnan — 

Athos's cock is spasming every — 

Every *time* — 

And then d'Artagnan *shoves* one hand under himself to grip at his own cock and Athos can't —

He's growling and *shouting* — 

"*That's* it —" 

He's — he's *spurting* — 

"*Give* it to our lovely brother, Athos!" 

He can't stop, he can't stop *fucking* d'Artagnan while he spurts, while he spills, while he gives everything he is and hopes it's *worthy* — 

d'Artagnan's *shoulder* is working — 

d'Artagnan's *throat* is working — 

He's swallowing and slurping and moaning and moaning and Athos can't even *blink* — 

Can't — 

Porthos won't *let* him look away — 

Porthos is *forcing* — 

Athos spurts again and *yells* — 

"*Good* boy!" 

If he'd had air he would've *cursed* — 

He wants to *curse* — 

He wants to give that to his brothers, too, give everything and beg to have it *taken*, please, *taken* — 

He slumps — 

d'Artagnan pushes up onto his knees without pulling off more than enough to let himself *breathe* — 

d'Artagnan *fumbles* with his trousers — 

Athos can't stop *clutching* at Aramis and Porthos for long enough to be *useful* — 

And Porthos laughs — "Here, lad, pull off and let us help you with those —" 

d'Artagnan slurs something incomprehensible and *excruciating* — 

Athos can't *describe* the noise he makes — 

But they're laughing again. 

And that's — 

That's everything wonderful.


	5. Well, Aramis, your brothers actually listen to you. Suck it up.

It takes a moment to separate young d'Artagnan from Athos's cock — and truly, Aramis can sympathize — but, once they do, they can *also* get him out of his *trousers*. 

And that is a worthy thing. 

A wonderful thing. 

A *magnificent*... thing. 

"Look, if you're all just going to *stare* at it —" 

"Give us just a moment, lad, you haven't *let* us see it hard before," Porthos says, and stares just as fixedly as the rest of them. 

Athos blinks. 

Aramis licks his lips. 

"Come *on*, Porthos's cock is —" 

"That is *Porthos*, lovely d'Artagnan. He is *twice your size*." 

"He is *not*!" 

"I'm really not, love." 

"Shh, leave me to my fantasies." 

"Your — about those —" 

"WOULD SOMEONE PLEASE TOUCH MY COCK." 

Aramis uses his superior speed to wrap *both* hands around the mighty cock in question — 

"Oh, fuck —" 

"Oi, love, leave room for the rest of us —" 

"I *did*." 

d'Artagnan splutters and groans — 

Porthos snickers — 

And Athos is not participating *nearly* enough. Some leeway must be given for the shockiness that comes from lovemaking after a lengthy *drought*, but — 

No. 

Aramis surrenders the soft, slick, *hot* skin of d'Artagnan's cock with one hand — 

"Wait —" 

And *yanks* Athos's hand off his coat so he can wrap it around d'Artagnan's cock, instead. 

"Oh, fuck, don't wait." d'Artagnan moans *very* loudly, cock twitching *vigorously*. 

Athos *moans*, hand *shaking*. "I — I've never..." He swallows with a click — 

And Porthos massages the back of Athos's neck. "You've never handled another man's tackle before, brother...?" 

"No. No, I — you *know* —" 

"That we do, that we do. But this is all natural. d'Artagnan will *tell* you what to do —" 

"Squeeze! Please squeeze!" 

"How *hard*?" 

"Very!"

"Oi — maybe don't —" 

And then d'Artagnan *yelps*, because Athos... well... 

Porthos prises Athos's fingers from around d'Artagnan's poor, mighty cock — 

d'Artagnan slumps over in *relief* — 

Athos looks horrified — 

Aramis pats Athos with his free hand. "Our lovely d'Artagnan had forgotten how literal-minded you could be in... training situations." 

Athos swallows and shrinks *back* from them — 

Porthos grips his shoulder — 

Athos brushes his hand *aside* — 

"*Brother* —" 

"Don't —" 

And d'Artagnan cups Athos's face and kisses him *violently* — 

Aramis helps Porthos hold Athos in *place* — 

Athos *shudders* — 

"All is *well*, my brother," Aramis says into Athos's ear. "The pain you gave was, perhaps, a little severe —" 

"But it won't last all *that* long," Porthos says — 

"And our lovely d'Artagnan has *already* forgiven you, and longs for you to touch him again, and again, and *again* —" 

Athos groans — 

Shudders *more* — 

Pants into d'Artagnan's mouth — 

"We want the same things, brother," Porthos says. "We want you all *over* us..." 

"NNH —" 

"We want you to show us every filthy thought you've *had* about us, brother — and all the warm ones, too." 

And d'Artagnan pulls back — 

"No — I — " And Athos *grips* d'Artagnan by the hair — 

d'Artagnan smiles so *happily* — 

"What will you do with him now, my brother?" And Aramis *sucks* a kiss behind Athos's ear — 

"What will you *show* him, eh?" 

Athos's expression is *twisted* with need and hurt and *lust* — 

"I want you, Athos. I — I *love* you," d'Artagnan says, and smiles softly. "I love all of you. I *need* all of you —" 

"There is nothing that isn't *yours*," Athos says in a low, guttural *growl*. 

"Then..." d'Artagnan pants. "Then give me — something. Please, Athos. *Please*." 

For a moment, Athos only looks *more* wounded — 

More *lost* — 

Aramis squeezes Athos's arm — 

He knows that Porthos is *also* squeezing Athos — 

*Urging* him — 

And Athos breathes deep, expression hardening into determination. "d'Artagnan. I will need... assistance." 

d'Artagnan grins. "We all need help sometimes. There's nothing wrong with that. There's nothing wrong with *any* of this. Right?" 

And *now* Athos looks...

Porthos laughs hard. "Brother, you *could* get lost in your fantasies now. That's *an* option —" 

"But," Aramis says, taking Athos's right hand and moving it back to d'Artagnan's cock, "there are also *other* options." 

"Oh — I." 

And d'Artagnan *pushes* into Athos's hand and smiles hopefully — 

Athos growls and strokes d'Artagnan, strokes d'Artagnan's slick all over his cock — 

"Oh — *fuck* —" 

"Oh, *yeah*," Porthos says, and licks his plush lips — "Why don't you stroke him the way you do *yourself*, brother?" 

Athos huffs. "That's what I tried the *first* time." 

The tent is silent. 

*Except* for the sounds of Athos stroking d'Artagnan's mighty — 

Hm. "My brother..." 

Athos huffs again. "Yes, Aramis?" 

"Do you... often..." 

"Pleasure myself? No." 

d'Artagnan *gasps* a laugh. "Well, I wouldn't, *either*, if I did it like *that* —"

Porthos *splutters* — 

Aramis... considers. 

And Athos is giving him a *look*. 

*While* stroking lovely d'Artagnan's cock. It — 

He is being neither brutal nor hesitant with the magnificent organ in question. He is — 

And d'Artagnan's eyes are growing heavy-lidded as he *rolls* his hips into the touch — 

As he pants and sweats and — mm. 

"My Porthos..." 

"Mm? Athos is still *looking* at you, you know." 

"I know this thing. He wishes to quell me." 

"That he does, that he does. What were you about to do?" 

"Suggest that he bring *us* home to pleasure him at night." 

"Oh, that's a good suggestion! I *like* that —" 

"I do, as well! How do you feel about it, lovely d'Artagnan?" 

"Unh — uh. I — fuck?" And d'Artagnan laughs breathlessly — 

Fucks into Athos's fist *faster* — 

Athos flushes *deeply* — and focuses on d'Artagnan. 

"Mm. I think you should cup his bollocks, brother..." 

Athos growls and does it *immediately* — 

Aramis grins and nips Athos's ear. "Squeeze them gently, but *firmly* —" 

d'Artagnan cries out — 

"That is the most *arousing* —" Athos pants and squeezes again — 

d'Artagnan *bucks* — "Please!" 

"What do you *want*." 

"Oh, *fuck* — don't use that voice!" And d'Artagnan laughs nervously — 

Athos looks very worried — 

Aramis clears his throat — 

"Uh — brother —" 

"What our lovely d'Artagnan *meant* was —" 

"Use that voice." 

"*Definitely* use that voice," Aramis says. 

"Use that voice all the bloody time," Porthos says, and nods judiciously. 

Athos frowns — 

And raises an eyebrow at d'Artagnan — 

And does not stop *stroking* or *squeezing* — 

d'Artagnan *whimpers* and grips at the blankets on the ground —

"See that, mate? He needs you to be *firm* with him." 

Athos's jaw drops as he flushes even deeper — 

Aramis grins and *licks* his beard — 

Athos makes a *hungrily* garbled noise — and then bares his teeth. "Should I, d'Artagnan?" 

"Unh — *unh* —" 

"Should I be *firm* with you." 

"*Fuck* — *yes*!" 

"Say please." 

"*Shit* —" And d'Artagnan bucks *again* — 

Arches — 

"*Down*." 

d'Artagnan *drops* — "I'm sorry!" 

Athos growls. "Noted. Now say. Please." 

d'Artagnan whimpers again — 

*Shoves* into Athos's fist — 

"Please! *Please* be firm with me! Please — I'll do anything you *want* me to do!" 

Athos pants twice — "Anything...?" 

"Yes — *yes*. Oh — fuck, I'm so *close* —" 

"*Don't* spend. Not yet." 

"*Hnh* — fuck — I won't!" 

"Tell me if you will..." Athos pants — 

Licks his lips — 

"What would you do, if I told you to kneel for Porthos?" 

Porthos *grunts* — 

Aramis *stares* — 

But d'Artagnan looks thrilled, looks hungry, looks — "I'd do it, right away, just — I *want* it." 

Athos narrows his eyes and licks his lips. "And if I told you to give your beautiful arse to Aramis...?" 

d'Artagnan shivers once, all over, and looks deep into Athos's eyes. "I'd hope you had used it first."

"*d'Artagnan* —" 

"I'd hope. I'd hope you had fucked me *hard* —" 

Athos *snarls* — "On your *back*!" 

d'Artagnan *stares* — 

Grins — 

And drops, just like that, knees bent up and legs spread, and Athos is *shoving* his trousers down further — 

"Uhh..." 

"I profoundly hope you don't plan to stop me, brother," Athos says. 

"Not per *se*," Porthos says, and moves his hand back to Athos's nape — 

Athos grunts — and pauses — 

"Oh, God, don't *stop* him!" 

"Just for a *moment*, lovely d'Artagnan," Aramis says, and lies beside him. 

"I —" 

Aramis kisses d'Artagnan in the most distracting way he knows how — 

d'Artagnan groans and *shakes* — 

Cups Aramis's face with shaking *hands* — 

And Aramis kisses d'Artagnan because he needs to, because d'Artagnan is his brother, his *little* brother, when he'd thought he'd never have such a thing — 

Such a beautiful *thing* — 

"I... want," Athos says. 

"We both do. We want a *lot* of things," Porthos says. "We can only have *some* of them right *now*." 

"I know that —" 

"Do you?" 

Athos takes a shuddering breath. "I used to... lose control. With her." 

Aramis — can no longer kiss. 

d'Artagnan pulls back *as* Aramis does the same — 

They both look to Athos — 

Porthos is doing the same — 

And Athos huffs. "No. No, please, I don't *wish* to give her more *time* —" 

"Brother —" 

"And I know what you will say, Porthos. I know — I will *have* to give her more time. I will have to *speak* —" Athos growls. "Not now. Not that." 

d'Artagnan licks his lips. "Then what? We can have — it can be anything. I just want more." 

Athos's eyes heat again — 

He looks d'Artagnan over like a feast he means to crawl *inside* — 

And Aramis smiles sharply and drags his fingers down and down the center of d'Artagnan's chest. "Perhaps... you will cover our lovely d'Artagnan..." 

"Cover... oh." 

"You can lose control *that* way, brother," Porthos says, and squeezes Athos's balls — 

"Nnh —" 

"You can *both* lose control that way, my brother," Aramis says, and strokes d'Artagnan's cock lightly, lazily — 

"Shit — fuck — that's *torture*, Aramis!" 

"Be nicer to that cock, love. You don't want to hack it off and then have to meet it in a dark alley at night." 

d'Artagnan splutters — 

"I *do* want to meet it in *many* places — certainly many of my places would like to —" 

"Please. Move," Athos says, and pants — 

And stares *fixedly* into d'Artagnan's eyes — 

Aramis grins into *Porthos's* eyes — and rolls aside. 

Athos covers d'Artagnan immediately, being gentle and careful until d'Artagnan squeezes his hips with his thighs — 

At which point he thrusts very, *very* hard — 

And d'Artagnan shouts — 

"Do you *like* —" 

"Please more!" 

And Athos shoves one hand into d'Artagnan's hair and cups his *throat* with the other hand — 

d'Artagnan groans *low* — 

And Athos thrusts *hard*, rhythmic and *slow* as he tightens his *grip* — 

d'Artagnan's mouth falls open on a *silent* scream — 

"Don't. *Spend*." 

d'Artagnan *nods* — 

"Good boy. Good — I want to fuck you for hours. *Days*." 

d'Artagnan bucks — 

Clutches Athos more *tightly* — 

Aramis licks his lips — 

And Porthos pulls Aramis back against him, forces Aramis to straddle his thighs once more — 

Aramis's arse is pressed against Porthos's straining *cock* — 

Their clothes are still in the way, but — 

"My Porthos —" 

"My Aramis. Mm. Should I do that to you? Mm? Should I hold you down and fuck your cock?" 

Aramis's cock *jerks* — 

He opens his mouth to answer — 

"You should. *Discipline* him," Athos says, and continues to *thrust* — 

Aramis grunts and *clenches* — 

"Uhh..." 

"He has wanted you. He has — he *wants* you to," Athos says, and fucks d'Artagnan harder, *faster* — 

d'Artagnan's whine is high, *breathless* — 

He has given himself so *beautifully* — 

And Aramis must follow his example. He grinds down against Porthos's cock — 

Porthos gasps — "*Aramis* —" 

"Please. Please discipline me." 

Porthos clutches Aramis's hips — 

Pants against his *ear* — 

"You won't. You won't *deny* him, will you, brother...?" And the smile in Athos's voice is *vicious* — 

Porthos makes a *desperate* sound — 

Athos huffs and *grinds* against d'Artagnan — 

d'Artagnan's thighs *tremble* — 

"Right, brother, we *both* know that the only reason *you* have *any* aplomb is that you're not letting d'Artagnan make any *noise*." 

"Nothing's stopping you from gagging Aramis..." 

Aramis flushes *hard* — "I will be silent —" 

"You bloody *won't* —" Porthos growls. "Athos. Let d'Artagnan moan for you." 

"I —" 

"Let him *beg*." 

Athos grunts and *slams* against d'Artagnan — 

d'Artagnan arches and shudders — 

The scents of his sweat and musk and *straining* *fill* the tent — 

Far more than the scents of any of the rest of them — 

"*Athos*." 

"I —" 

"Nothing ends," Aramis says, quietly, and watches flush spill down Athos's chest. "Nothing ends, no matter how beautiful it is." 

"Oh, brother..." 

"You. Will have to keep *teaching* me — I *apologize*," Athos says, and releases d'Artagnan's throat — "*Breathe*."

d'Artagnan gasps — 

*Sobs* — 

Gasps again and — "Please, Athos, please more, please don't stop —" 

Athos growls and yanks d'Artagnan's head back —

d'Artagnan yells — 

"Everything about you is *beautiful*!" 

"*Please*!" 

"*Hnh* —" And Athos is *rutting* against d'Artagnan now, shoving and grinding and *riding* him — 

"Yes — *yes*!" 

"*d'Artagnan* —" 

"Please! I — I'll do *anything* for you!" 

"Take — *take* —" 

"I'll take everything!" 

Athos looks *enraged* by this, looks wild, looks *desperate* — 

d'Artagnan touches his cheek with shaking *fingers* — 

Athos *bites* his fingers — 

d'Artagnan *gasps* again — "I'm sorry — I —" And he squeezes his eyes shut and *shouts* as he spends — 

As he spurts all over Athos's belly and chest — 

Athos *chokes* on a cry and jerks d'Artagnan's head back down — "Open your *eyes*!" 

"I — I —" 

"*Open*!" 

d'Artagnan obeys — "I'm *sorry* — I couldn't —" 

"I *love* you!" 

d'Artagnan sobs and spurts *again* — 

Athos kisses him *brutally* — 

Kisses him down to the *ground* — 

Aramis pants and reaches to adjust himself in his trousers — 

And Porthos kisses Aramis's ear, soft and very sweet. 

"My Porthos —" 

"Open them. Take your cock and bollocks out where I can see them. Where I can *have* them." 

"Unh — yes. Yes, my Porthos," Aramis says and obeys, *obeys* — 

Athos growls and *stiffens* — 

Goes *rigid* — 

And Aramis realizes that he's growling through his *spend* — 

Oh — 

He wants this, too. He wants it on him, *for* him — 

He wants Athos to ride *him* — 

He wants *d'Artagnan* to ride him, to *tease* him with it before *fucking* him — 

And then Porthos would — 

Would...

He wants too many things. 

He *is* a creature of greed, of filth and sin and — 

"Aramis... are you getting lost in your head?" 

Oh. He has been kneeling and staring at nothing, with his hands on the laces of his breeches. He must — "I... it is not important —" 

"Are you getting lost in your *head*." 

"My Porthos —" 

"Yes or no."

Aramis pants — and turns, trying a smile. "You are usually much more gentle with your Aramis —" 

"But that's not what you want from me. Not this *kind* of gentle, anyway." 

"I..." 

"Now stop avoiding the question." 

And Athos and d'Artagnan are watching — 

Studying and — 

Aramis flushes — "I. I became lost." 

Porthos holds him tightly, and — and so *warmly* — 

"Please —" 

"What took you... off the path, love?" 

Aramis shivers and — he will not lie. "I was watching Athos spend. I. I wanted him to spend that way for me." 

Porthos makes a pleased sound — 

Athos looks stunned — and then thoughtful. 

d'Artagnan grins. "I recommend it!" 

"I began thinking of being ridden in similar ways by d'Artagnan — in preparation for being *fucked* by d'Artagnan —" 

d'Artagnan moans *high* —

Aramis smiles ruefully at the blankets, and finishes unlacing his trousers. "I... started berating myself for wanting too much. For being greedy and... sinful." 

"Love —" 

"I — this happens sometimes, when I am *dreaming* of all of you. Of all of *us*, together." 

Porthos frowns. 

Aramis does not have to see his face to know this, at this late date. He can feel it, all through himself, and — and Athos and d'Artagnan are frowning, as well. "I apologize —" 

"Shh," Porthos says, and holds him tighter. "You didn't do anything wrong. Right, brothers?" 

d'Artagnan swallows and nods — 

Athos stares *into* Aramis and nods. "You would not ever allow me to blame myself for casting a pall on our brotherhood, Aramis. You *have* not ever allowed this. I see no reason to allow you to do so." 

"Athos —" 

"Shh," Porthos says again, and kisses Aramis's ear again, and — "Why don't you tell us how to make it easier, mm? How to make it *better*." 

And that is... heat, low in his belly. 

That is the *promise* of touch — there could be so *much*! All he must do is give in to it, accept it, ignore everything he has been taught — he cannot entirely repress a wince.

"Aramis..." And d'Artagnan is frowning again. 

"Yes?" 

"Are you only allowed to ignore the Church when you're teaching *other* people about your God?" 

"I —" 

"That's an *excellent* question, lad," Porthos says, and turns Aramis to face him as much as he can. "Is it all right for *you* to beat yourself to a pulp for the Church's lies, love? So long as no one else does?" 

Aramis shudders — 

And Athos turns Aramis to face *him*. "If you expected us to allow you to crucify yourself —" 

Aramis *coughs* — 

"— you were operating under a very grave misconception." 

"*Athos*." 

Athos raises an eyebrow. 

"You — you do not — that is not —" 

"Love... what *exactly* makes you the *one* person on the planet who has to suffer for all the things you've *taught* us were shite?" 

And they are looking at him — 

All — 

All *waiting* for him to learn this *lesson* — 

He must not be *slow* — 

He cannot ever be — 

His mother, his good mother, never accepted slowness from him. For her, he learned everything, and learned everything at *speed*. 

For his father... he learned a very *few* things. A very few things that. 

That *shit* all over *everything* he had learned before. 

His *mother*, for all that she had never been religious, would *understand* the religion Aramis has now. His 'heresy' is born of thorough study and *analysis*, as opposed to merely spouting the hidebound dogma of other, lesser men. 

And this... 

This is what his brothers wish for him to understand. 

This is what they wish for him to hold to himself, even when he is hurt, and cold, and — 

And — 

It is hard. 

It is...

He smiles ruefully. 

"Love —" 

Aramis turns and straddles Porthos's lap — 

Cups his beautiful face — 

Nuzzles his soft mouth, his soft *beard* — 

"Mm — oh, love, we can — but I think you need to *talk* —" 

"And I promise I will, my Porthos, my *brothers*. But..." He kisses Porthos's mouth softly, and then turns to look at Athos and d'Artagnan. "I promise that you have all been heard. I promise — I promise that I will be thinking about all of this —" 

"You can do that thinking *aloud*," d'Artagnan says — 

Athos huffs. "I believe he'd like to do other things aloud right now, d'Artagnan. *Fervently*." 

"Oh — fuck — you're using innuendo — Porthos, *do* something to him!" 

"Right, Athos, you're being a bad *influence* again —" 

Athos huffs twice more — 

And Aramis grins and turns to *lick* the corners of Porthos's mouth — 

"*Fuck* — *Aramis* —" 

"My difficulties with religion will still be there when we are not in this tent, my Porthos —" 

"My hard *cock* will be there for you *always*." 

"You don't know, brother. You could have an unfortunate injury tomorrow," Athos says very blandly indeed —

"*Athos* — 

"Aramis could *give* you an unfortunate injury *tonight* if you don't help him out," d'Artagnan says, and it sounds like he has retrieved the travel bread and started *eating* again —

"Bloody — *d'Artagnan* —" 

"My Porthos." 

"Oh, shit, that's the quiet voice," Porthos says, and looks at *him* — 

Focuses so perfectly, so — 

"I'm listening, love, and I'm — fuck, you really don't want to talk." 

"No, I do not." 

"It's only — I *have* to take care of you. I have to do *right* by you." 

Aramis pushes his fingers into Porthos's curls and *grips*. 

"Oh, fuck, love —" 

"Take care of me this way. Do right by me *this* way. I promise that I will give you *many* opportunities —" 

"Every. Give me *every* opportunity to sodding *have* you, Aramis, because I can't *take* anything else." 

Aramis blinks — 

"Please, I — not anymore." 

Aramis feels himself flush and leans in, offers, *gives* himself — "Every one, my Porthos," he whispers into Porthos's mouth — 

And Porthos kisses him hard — 

Kisses him deeply, *hungrily* — 

Growls and shudders and kisses him *harder* — 

Aramis suckles his tongue — 

Teases it and makes as many promises as he *can* — 

And Porthos is opening Aramis's coat —

Aramis's tunic — 

Pushing aside the belts and doing a better *job* of opening Aramis's trousers and breeches — 

He does not stop *kissing* for even a *moment* — 

He has spent so much time *thinking* about Aramis's *clothes* — and Aramis has spent just as much time thinking about Porthos's own, but right now Aramis's hands feel stupid, clumsy — 

Stiff and *useless* —

He can do nothing but *pet* Porthos — 

Touch him and *molest* him *through* his clothes — 

Except that Porthos growls and leans back and *quickly* starts stripping himself — 

"Oh, yes, *yes* —" 

Athos huffs. "I feel strongly that the two of you shouldn't be removing that many clothes —" 

"I'm not talking to you, brother," Porthos says, and shrugs off his tunic — 

Athos huffs more. "d'Artagnan? Perhaps you can get them to —" 

"I personally would like to see how much they *can* strip without knocking the tent over," d'Artagnan says. 

"It's still *raining* outside." 

"Hunh." 

"What?" 

"Nothing, it's just. I think that's the most *delicate* thing I've ever heard you say, Athos." 

Aramis pauses to take in the — yes, horrified— expression on Athos's face — 

And then Porthos sighs *precisely* the way he *always* does when he is in the *process* of freeing his aching cock — 

Aramis *looks* — and frowns. "It is too gloomy in this tent." 

d'Artagnan snorts. "*Now* you're complaining?"

"I cannot see Porthos's beautiful cock!" 

"You *do* already know what it looks like, though," d'Artagnan says. 

"After all," Athos says, in the voice of infuriating reason, "you noted yourself that it was beautiful." 

"Right, you arseholes are never going to get any closer to my beautiful cock if you keep that up." 

"You are, of course, saving yourself for my godfather." 

"Sod *off* —" 

"I don't know," d'Artagnan says. "I could bring my flint and steel over for Aramis. You like open flame as close as possible to your beautiful — say, is my cock beautiful?" 

"Yes, it is, and I'm glaring at both of you, in case you couldn't tell," Porthos says. 

"And I," Aramis says, "am glaring at Porthos's beautiful cock, which is truly a crime." 

"That it is, love. Why don't you do something else with my beautiful cock?" 

Aramis grins — 

*Thrills* — 

"Perhaps my Porthos will... help me to do something with his beautiful cock..." 

"I *see*," Porthos says, and pushes one hand into Aramis's hair — 

Pets and massages Aramis's scalp — 

"Oh, my Porthos —" 

"My *love*," he says, and *grips* with his big, warm hand — 

Aramis shivers for the feel of his hairs pulling against calluses — 

Grins helplessly as Porthos strokes his face with his other hand — 

Opens his *mouth* as Porthos strokes *that* — 

And Porthos's low sound of hunger makes Aramis's belly drop. 

He needs — "Please." 

"What are you begging for, love?" 

Aramis blushes so *hot* — "I — please. *Make* me suck your cock." 

"I think you should suck my *bollocks* first..." 

Aramis *grunts* — 

He can hear Athos's sharp intake of breath — 

He can hear d'Artagnan *stroking* himself — 

Aramis moans — "Please, my Porthos, please anything, please let me *taste* —" 

Porthos growls and *yanks* Aramis down to his groin, and his balls are so heavy, but no, not very hairy, at all — 

He knew this, but — 

He has never been so close — 

He has never *touched* — 

Porthos is *panting* as Aramis lifts his sac to his lips — 

Aramis kisses — 

Kisses sweetly, softly — 

Over and over — 

"Ah, *fuck*, Aramis —" 

Aramis takes the whole huge, heavy sac *in*, shivering for the tickle of the few hairs, blushing for the weight on his tongue — 

He has not *done* this in so *long* — 

He has not done this and had it *mean* — so much. 

Aramis flushes and *sucks* — 

"NNH — *Aramis* — oh, Aramis, that's bloody *perfect*," Porthos says, and runs his fingers through Aramis's hair, grips Aramis's nape, *massages* his nape — 

Strokes back to his cheek — 

His mouth — 

Porthos is panting — 

Rolling his *hips* as though Aramis has already taken his *cock* — 

Aramis sucks *harder* — 

"*Fuck* — unh —" And Porthos laughs, bright and breathless and sweet — "You should see how Athos is staring at you, love. I *think* he just might want a chance at your perfect mouth —" 

Aramis groans — 

"Nngh —" 

"And. Your balls. I want —" Athos takes a shuddering breath. "It seems terribly unfair that I'm this aroused again." 

"*Enjoy* it," d'Artagnan says, and sounds like he's speaking to a very slow child — 

"I — *HNH* —" 

"Fuck, lad — oh, yeah — oh, love, d'Artagnan is sucking *Athos's* bollocks and tossing him off —" 

"*Mm* —" And Aramis grips Porthos's cock just the way he wishes — 

Just the way he has ached to do for so *long* — 

"Oh, love — oh, love, your hand is *shaking* —" 

That is no *good*. Aramis releases Porthos's balls and *swallows* his cock — 

The muscles remember well *enough*, though it takes him three gulps — 

Porthos *shouts* — 

Yes, yes, my Porthos, be *loud* — 

He grips Aramis's hair — 

Pulls so *hard* — 

Aramis *sucks* as hard as he can, swallows *rhythmically* — 

Porthos shouts *again*, and his slick is all over Aramis's tongue — 

His salt is making Aramis's tongue *curl*, his sweetness and musk are every secret lust he was never supposed to *have* — no. 

No. 

He is in love, and he has always been in love, and his good mother would've known that this love was correct, and correct for him. 

His good mother would have known that Porthos would only ever want his joy, his pleasure, his safety and warmth and love — 

Oh, always *love* — 

He wants the same for his Porthos; and he will *have* it. Aramis pushes up against Porthos's hand — 

"Fuck — Aramis, I'm —" 

Aramis rises up until just the tip of Porthos's cock is in his mouth and then suckles and mouths and nuzzles, kisses and *nuzzles* — 

"*Fuck* —" 

And then he takes Porthos *in* again, all the way *in* — 

"HNH —" 

And sucks and slurps and — 

Oh, he's so full, so taken and *full* — 

He does not want to *move*, but — 

He rises up slowly, *slowly*, sucking and taking, *taking* — 

"Nngh — you — *Aramis* — " 

I know what you like, my Porthos... I know what you like from your boys and your girls and your *women*... And Aramis *laps* at the tip like a *dog* — 

"Bloody *hell*, Aramis, don't — or do — *shit* —" And Porthos laughs and *shudders* — 

Aramis takes Porthos in *quickly* — 

Porthos coughs out a grunt and *bucks* — 

Aramis gulps Porthos *down* — 

"*Aramis* — I — I'm going to have to *fuck* you —" 

Aramis nods and nods and sucks *hard* as he rises — 

"Fuck fuck —" 

"I don't think you want his teeth anywhere near your cock should you decide to deny him again, Porthos." 

"Athos — first off, you're too — too *coherent* —" 

"I'm hoping to convince d'Artagnan to be positively brutal — HNGH —" 

"That's — that's got it, lad —" 

And it is very good that Porthos is such a *loving* brother, but he must *focus*. And so Aramis nibbles, just a *little* — 

And Porthos's grip on his hair is suddenly nearly painful — 

He is holding Aramis *still* — 

Aramis *pants* around Porthos's cock — 

"Don't breathe, love. Don't breathe and don't make a *sound*." 

Aramis closes his *mouth* — 

"Good boy. Now tell me if you're *ready* for me to fuck you. Nod or shake your head, just once." 

Aramis nods as vigorously as he *can* — 

And Porthos *sighs* — 

*Shudders* — 

And thrusts in *hard* — 

Aramis misses his gulp — 

"Try harder, love..." 

Aramis blushes like a boy and *nods* — 

Porthos *thrusts* — in — 

In so — 

And then he pulls out and *slams* in — 

Aramis *flails* — 

*Stills* himself — 

"Can you take that, love..." And Porthos is panting, still shuddering, so *hungry* — 

Aramis *aches* — and *nods* — 

Porthos growls and holds Aramis's head still, holding Aramis's head just *so* and fucking in fast and hard and dirty, so *dirty* — 

So — 

It is so rough, so hard, so — 

It is *nothing* like what he gives to his women and girls and boys — 

It is — 

"I think — I think I can feel your *surprise*, Aramis..." 

Yes yes — oh, yes — 

"Did you think I wasn't dreaming of you, love?" 

Ohh... 

"Dreaming of what I might — nnh. Might be able to *have* with a man as strong and wild and *mad* as you?" 

Oh, *Porthos* — 

"I. I want *everything*. Everything we can *survive* — and look at you *writhe* for that. Oh, love — oh, love, I'm never bloody letting you up for *air*," Porthos says, and pulls Aramis in against his *groin* — 

Crushes his *face* — 

Aramis is *grinding* against the wet blankets on the ground — 

And Porthos is *rutting* into Aramis's mouth, in and in and *in*, fast and vicious and dirty and *relentless* — 

"I. I want to be used just that way," Athos says — 

d'Artagnan makes very positive *noises* around Athos's *balls* — 

Athos *groans* — "I — I — my hand twined with *yours*, d'Artagnan — I —" And then Athos *sobs* — 

Porthos *bucks* again — 

Loses his *rhythm* — 

And Aramis knows that his Porthos wants everything, as well.

Aramis will make sure he takes it, takes it all, everything he *desires* — 

Let him always *desire* — 

And Porthos is shuddering all over every few moments — 

Porthos is slamming in again and again and *again* — 

Porthos is not letting Aramis *breathe* — 

Aramis cannot *think* — but.

There is no need for it. 

There is no need for anything but to be *used*, open and *used*, just as Athos said — 

Athos so often has the *right* of these things — 

He must not be *discounted* just because he has so little experience — 

He — 

Aramis is taken. 

Aramis is *fucked*. 

Aramis is held and taken and open and fucked and *used* by his Porthos, his beloved Porthos, and he is so hard, so ready, so *needy* — 

There has been nothing *better* — 

"Aramis — *Aramis* —" 

Yes, yes, *anything* — 

"You're so *perfect* —" 

Oh — 

"You're so — you've always been just what I *needed* —" 

Aramis feels his cock jerking and jerking — he *sucks* — 

"Oh, *fuck* — you're making me — making me feel so good, so *right* —" 

Aramis's eyes roll back in his head, but he must keep sucking, he must — 

He must be good, he must — 

Oh, Porthos, oh — 

"I — I bloody can't — everything about you is what I *need* —" 

Aramis's breath hitches — 

He gulps before he can choke — 

His cock is spasming so *hard* — 

Porthos slams in *again* — 

So — 

"I *love* you so — so *much*, Aramis —" 

And Aramis screams, desperate and silent and — 

"What — you opened your mouth — oh — oh, Aramis, you —" 

Aramis is spurting, spurting all over the *blankets* — 

He can't stop — 

He is so hot, so needy, so — 

He is full of Porthos's cock and Porthos's love for him, Porthos's need for him, Porthos — 

Oh — 

He spurts *again* — 

"Oh, love, you smell so *good*..." 

He spurts *again* — 

And Porthos pulls *out* — 

"No — *please* —" 

Porthos growls and shoves back *in* — "Take it all, Aramis. It's *yours*." 

Aramis groans in his *chest*, and his cock is still twitching, still *trying* to spurt, but he must please, he must make *up* for — 

"That was beautiful," Porthos says, breathless and panting. "That was incredible —" 

Aramis groans as his cock spasms *harder* — 

Porthos thrusts *deep* — "Oh, my — my *beauty* —" 

*Yours* — 

"You're so bloody *perfect* — I can't — I just want to keep you on my cock all *day*." 

Aramis nods and suckles, just suckles — 

"You don't think that's a little... selfish?" 

Porthos gasps a laugh. "*Athos*." 

Athos huffs — and then gasps — "Oh. d'Artagnan... I can no longer remember why I didn't want you to use your teeth — *NNH* —" 

Porthos laughs *hard* — "Fuck — I'm not — I can't hold on if I'm *laughing* —" 

"*Don't* hold on, brother —" 

"Then *you* don't hold on!" 

"Is that... an order?"

"*Yes*, you arse —" 

"Oh... thank you," Athos says, and it sounds as though he is purring deep inside himself even as he begins to groan — 

To pant and *hitch* — 

Aramis understands this with all of himself. He smiles and reaches to cup his Porthos's balls — 

"Oh — yeah, love, yeah — squeeze —" 

Aramis *obeys* — 

"Harder — just a little — ngh — fuck — you're so good, you're so — you live in my *dreams* —" 

You live in mine!

"*Hold* me, hold me while I —" And Porthos starts fucking him hard and *fast* again, faster than before — 

Aramis does not try to breathe or move or — 

Or anything but *take* — 

Porthos *groans* — "You — can't believe you just *spent* —" 

For *you*. 

"I'll dream about *that*. I'll dream about that *forever* — ah, fuck — ah, fuck, I need to taste you, smell you, *touch* you —" 

Oh.... 

"I need to open you up and crawl *inside* —" 

*Please* — 

"Need to — need to make you *mine* —" 

Aramis can't help but *nod* — 

"*Fuck* —" And Porthos growls low and slams in once — 

Again — 

Again —

*Again*, and he knocks Aramis's head back — and then *shouts*, holding Aramis still again as he spurts, spurts all over Aramis's mouth — 

Fills Aramis's *mouth* — 

Aramis whimpers and moans — 

Whimpers so *needily* — 

He is suckling — 

He is lapping and *wallowing* — 

Porthos is *shaking* — and petting him so *lovingly*. "There. There you are, love..." 

Aramis nods and nods — 

Takes every drop — 

*Warms* Porthos's cock when it stops spasming — 

"Well, we have a right conundrum on our hands, Athos." 

"Unh. I am, as ever, always interested in your — problems, Porthos." 

"Mm. The problem in question: I *really* don't think I'm going to be able to stop fucking Aramis for at least forty solid years." 

"Yes, you — oh, d'Artagnan — yes, you will." 

"No, I won't." 

"Yes, you will." 

"How d'you figure?" 

"Should — d'Artagnan, *please* —" 

"Mm?" 

"*Scrape* your teeth." 

"*Mm*..." 

"HNH — where was I?" 

"You were explaining how I'd be able to stop fucking Aramis — and I have my doubts about this." 

"I'm — I'm sure you do — *fuck*." 

"What'd he just do?" 

"Sucked *while* scraping — you're going to be able to stop fucking Aramis because, if you behave, I will stop fucking d'Artagnan for long enough to ask my godfather *why* he won't fuck you —" 

"*Fuck* —" 

"He'll be so stunned by the fact that I'm taking the initiative in a sexual conversation that his resolve will be weakened for the next time you decide to throw yourself at his cock." 

"Well, this is why you're the leader, mate." 

"Thank you — " 

Aramis pulls back — and sees that d'Artagnan is doing the same — 

"Aww —" 

"That is the *last* thing I wanted to have happen," Athos says — 

"I'm just wondering here," d'Artagnan says — 

"What are d'Artagnan and I meant to be *doing* while you and Porthos are plotting against our Captain's virtue?"

"And not paying attention to *us*." 

"I..." 

"We could *all* go get fucked by Treville," Porthos says, and smiles, and nods encouragingly. 

d'Artagnan stares. 

Athos pinches the bridge of his nose. 

And Aramis... accepts that the man he is in love with will eventually convince him to bend over his Captain's desk and *like* it. 

He will help the others do the same.


	6. Well, d'Artagnan, your brothers are mad, but so are you.

d'Artagnan has had his hand around Athos's cock for... well, it's been a while now. 

It's not *hard* anymore, and d'Artagnan isn't stroking, but — 

He's still holding it. 

He's probably going to be holding it until it stops raining, unless Athos has any objections — 

Or has to go pee — 

He hopes *he* doesn't have to go pee — 

He'd drunk a *lot* of wine — 

Fuck, now he's *thinking* about it — 

And *squirming* — 

He *stops* that — 

And stops thinking about having to — "So," he says, aloud, and has nothing to go after it. 

Athos turns to him immediately, raising an eyebrow. 

Aramis does the same. 

Porthos is napping, because he's Porthos, and he has, just, *amazing* napping skills, even when held against other soldiers. Being in a soggy tent, on top of *wet* blankets, surrounded by the people you *just* started fucking — 

No problem for Porthos.

He's in dreamland. 

He's — well, d'Artagnan will probably be smiling in *his* sleep, too, when he eventually gets somewhere *dry* — 

And if he can still keep Athos's cock in his hand — 

"Lovely d'Artagnan...? Is there something —" 

"I uh — I need a distraction." 

Aramis raises an eyebrow — and then gives a *pointed* look to d'Artagnan's hand on Athos's cock. 

Athos huffs. "Its most distracting trick at the moment is competitive napping with Porthos." 

Porthos smacks his lips and says something that may or may not be "nice one, that." It could've also been "flyblown bat." 

And then he starts snoring again. 

Aramis pets him with loving care and thoroughness. 

He — 

"You've been in love with him — I could see it. I can't really stress enough how confusing it was that you two weren't fucking." 

Aramis smiles ruefully. "I would give much to be able to see his dreams of me. To be able to *live* in them." 

"I think he would do the same for yours," Athos says. 

Aramis nods slowly. "A part of me still believes I was doing the *correct* thing to deprive us both." 

d'Artagnan frowns. "Aramis..." 

"I believe in hope, d'Artagnan. I believe in love, hope, peace, acceptance... all beautiful things. And so I *also* believe that, someday, I will *stop* believing in deprivation." 

"How can we help?"

Aramis turns and smiles *wickedly* at d'Artagnan's hand on Athos's cock — 

And smiles — 

And *smiles* — 

"Oh — now you're making me feel self-conscious —" 

"Oh, no, no, little brother —" 

"Fuck —" 

"You must *always* lead by *example*." 

"Oh — *fuck* —" 

Athos hums. "You could consider an experiment, Aramis." 

Aramis perks immediately. "Yes? Yes?" 

"We have none of us determined if Porthos can sleep through having his cock gently cradled." 

Aramis — gurgles. 

Athos raises an eyebrow.

Aramis licks his lips — 

d'Artagnan raises *two* eyebrows. 

"It is only... he sleeps through *everything* else..." 

"He truly does," Athos says. 

"But he is always so loud, so passionate for intimate touches — even his *own* intimate touches..." 

d'Artagnan and Athos nod judiciously. 

"It would be very *useful* information," Aramis says, and his eyes are — 

Well, they're a bit mad, but d'Artagnan is used to that at this point. 

And Athos raises a pointed eyebrow at Porthos's trousers. 

Aramis stares *fixedly* at Porthos's trousers — 

Porthos groans. "Right, look, *one* of you open my trousers," he says, muzzy and low. 

And — they're all blinking. 

"My Porthos... what woke you *up*?" 

Porthos scrubs a hand down over his face and sits up. "At least two of you were looking very *loudly* at my tackle." 

d'Artagnan stares. 

"You get a sense for that sort of thing if you've ever sold your arse. You know that, love." 

"I — very true, my Porthos. I *apologize*." 

"S'all right. Next time, just reach in and grab me. And that goes for the rest of you. d'Artagnan, you've got two hands; Athos won't always need you to torture his bollocks, too." 

Athos hums. "As an example: Were anything more exciting than this to happen on or near my genitals, I would have to run out into that storm and urinate immediately." 

"Aw, *damnit*," Porthos says — 

And Aramis groans *piteously* — 

And d'Artagnan winces. 

"Hm. This is why you wanted the distraction, d'Artagnan?" 

d'Artagnan nods. 

"Sorry. But... we might as well go out there before it gets any *worse*." 

If anything, Aramis's groan this time is even *more* piteous. But — they dress themselves.

Awkwardly. 

There's — 

There's a *lot* of bruising and cursing and — 

"My Porthos, I do not wish to be sodomized by your elbow." 

"Are you *sure*." 

"... have you *had* that fantasy?" 

"Four and half *years*, Aramis." 

"I... hm." 

Once they're outside, the *shock* of the rain — it's colder now — is enough to make d'Artagnan's *stupid* cock forget *how* to piss for long moments — 

*Really* long moments — 

He's getting soaked to the *skin* — 

"d'Artagnan," Porthos says, right into his *ear* — 

"Yeah?" 

"How'd you like it if I fucked Aramis *into* you?" 

d'Artagnan yelps and *pisses* — 

"Did that work?" 

"*Yes* —" 

"You're welcome — I'll be inside." 

d'Artagnan finishes as quickly as he can and crawls back inside the tent, shuddering more than a little — and getting yanked close and into a hard, brief kiss from Athos, who then starts stripping off d'Artagnan's outer layers. 

"Wha —" 

"We'll be too cold if we don't strip off a little and pile up like puppies," Porthos says, and he's wrestling out of his clothes with Aramis's help. 

"Oh, yes," Aramis says. "Do not worry, little brother. We have done this before." 

"I — all right," he says, and tries to ignore his own shivering — wait. "What about the —" 

"I checked the horses, little brother," Aramis says, and smiles wryly. "We will have to make many heartfelt apologies to them for bringing them out in *this* weather, but they are well enough." 

d'Artagnan nods, and turns back to Athos.

Athos's eyes are a little inner-focused as he works, even when he starts chafing d'Artagnan's limbs and maneuvering d'Artagnan into what's apparently the best possible position for warmth for all of them. 

They've put him in the middle with Athos on *top* of him, and Aramis and Porthos *bracketing* him, and — 

"All right, so I've had this fantasy, too," d'Artagnan says. 

Athos hums. "Being... surrounded?" 

"And cuddled to within an inch of my life, yeah." 

Aramis sighs and squeezes. "Simply take it. Resistance is futile." 

"That's *right*," Porthos says. "Also, I love your arse." 

d'Artagnan snickers — 

"I mean, we usually put Athos in your spot, and his arse is all hard and tight and great, but yours has some nice padding to it —" 

"My Porthos." 

"Mm?" 

"I..." 

"Yeah?" 

"Please describe my arse." 

Athos huffs repeatedly — 

"Well, it's all round and *pert*, like, innit?" 

"... pert?" 

"It's like it's *begging* to be *spanked* —" 

"I." 

"— or at *least* eaten like a *peach* —" 

"My God." 

"I would like to take this opportunity to remind you that you asked for that, Aramis," Athos says. 

Aramis sighs. "Yes. Yes, I did. Also, I am taking the middle next time." 

"Nice one, that." 

d'Artagnan wriggles a little. "Does that mean Porthos will get the middle the time after that? I mean — we've all seen *his* arse." 

Athos takes a shuddery breath. "Mm. His round, muscular yet *soft*..." 

"I have often had the thought that such an arse could be... welcoming," Aramis says. 

Porthos laughs hard. "It certainly *can* be —" 

"For Treville, brother...?" 

"For *all* of you," Porthos says, and kisses the corner of Athos's mouth. "Now hurry up and get hard again so little brother has something to hold on to. I have to make sure everyone's squared away so I can go back to sleep." 

Athos huffs — 

Aramis laughs. "d'Artagnan, hold *Porthos's* cock." 

"Oi, if you're going to be like that — d'Artagnan, hold *Aramis's* — ungh —" 

"Oh fuck." 

"Are you holding both of their cocks, d'Artagnan?" And Athos is smiling down at him so happily — 

So warmly and wickedly — 

So — 

"I love you," d'Artagnan says. "I love — all of you." 

"We love *you*, little brother —" 

"*Yeah*, we do," Porthos says — 

"So very much," Athos says, and kisses d'Artagnan *softly* — 

d'Artagnan shivers — 

They all press *closer* somehow — 

And this — all of this — is going to be fine. 

end.


End file.
